














* 


Class 'PZcj 

Book. 

Copyright N° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: 



CAPTAIN TED 


BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR: 


Carroll Dare. A Novel. 8vo, cloth, $1.25 

A thrilling story, with the dash of horses and 
the clash of swords on every page, told so vividly 
that the blood tingles with the reading. 

Corinne’s Vow. A Novel. With 16 full-page 


illustrations. 8vo, cloth 1 25 

Strong Arm of Avalon. 121110 o 85 


A story of those times when the Catholic faith 
was forbidden in, and Catholic priests were ban- 
ished from, the Colonies. It is an exciting story, 
one that takes hold of the interest and of the 
heart, and never lets go until the end is reached. 

The Play water Plot. i6mo, cloth. . . o 60 

There is a plot on foot to abduct Lester Leonard, 
a sick boy, who is a millionaire twice over, for 
ransom. The villains have followed him to an out- 
of-the-way place, and with the help of the boy’s 
attendant proceed to carry out their plans. How 
the plotters are captured and the boy rescued 
makes a very interesting story, which is sure to 
please the young folks. 

The Transplanting of Tessie. i6mo, o 60 

A charming juvenile, told in Mrs. Waggaman’s 
most engaging style. 















. 




4 



























































“ And making a mad dive through the crowd , Hii))ipty 
caught at a rough reejeri ’ — See page 92. 


CAPTAIN TED 


BY 

MARY T. WAGGAMAN 

a 



New York Cincinnati Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

PRINTERS TO THE I PUBLISHERS OF 
HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE | BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 


I9IO 


Copyright, 1910, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Chapter I 

“Holding the Fort” ....... 7 

Chapter II 

Gathering Clouds 16 

Chapter III 

A Home-Coming 26 

Chapter IV 

A Morning Walk 36 

Chapter V 

“The Bean Stalk” 48 

Chapter VI 

Kilkannegan's Broth 59 

Chapter VII 

Beginning Business 71 

Chapter VIII 

Teddy's “Friends” 82 

Chapter IX 

Humpty 93 

Chapter X 

A Traitor's Trick ....... 105 


5 


6 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Chapter XI 

Miss Dolly and “J ack ” Involved . .116 

Chapter XII 

A Friend in Need 127 

Chapter XIII 

A Bold Move 138 

Chapter XIV 

Heron Hall 148 

Chapter XV 

A Note of Alarm 159 

Chapter XVI 

A Night in the West Wing . . . .169 

Chapter XVII 

Victory 179 

Chapter XVIII 

Happy Days at Heron Hall . . . .190 


CAPTAIN TED 


CHAPTER I 
“holding the fort” 

T he New Year battle was on. The dazzling 
stretch of St. Elmer’s campus was white 
with the smoke of combat, as the snowballs of 
the a Pubs” thundered against the shining walls 
of the Fort, that had been the merry work of the 
college “Preps” all through the Christmas holi- 
days. With its white packed battlements forming 
a twelve-foot square, its central tower upbearing 
the blue and white cross of St. Elmer’s, that was 
to be the prize of the winners, Fort Kostka stood 
a record-breaker in college annals — a triumph of 
snow architecture that seemed to defy the powers 
of sun and storm. 

“Holding the Fort” in sturdy pride were twenty 
Preps under the leadership of Teddy Thornton, 
the valiant captain of the small boys’ football 
team, whose antagonists in many a hard-fought 
field, the Pubs, or public-school boys, had been 
challenged to make this New Year’s attack. 

And now the crests of the hills were lined with 


7 


8 


“HOLDING THE FORT” 


juvenile spectators, and the wintry air was rent 
with shout and cheer. In the windows of St. 
Elmer’s, the cassocked forms of prefects and 
teachers could be seen looking on with smiling 
interest in the manly game. 

“On, boys — on ! Give it to them again ! 
Hooray for the Pubs ! Hooray ! Down with the 
blue banner !” went up the chorused shout, as the 
besiegers, under burly Bill Briggs, charged the 
shining battlements. 

“Give it back to them, boys, give it back!” 
rang out Captain Ted’s command. “Plold the 
Fort for St. Elmer’s! St. Elmer’s! Ho for St. 
Elmer’s !” 

And the white balls flew in glittering showers, 
while the merry war went on, the blue curve of 
the frozen river echoing with shout and cheer and 
boyish battle cry. 

Three times the whole force of the Pubs was 
flung against Fort Kostka; but the white walls, 
hard packed into mimic marble by the sturdy 
young builders, stood unmoved. Twice reckless 
Dick Bentley, in a daring, forlorn hope, leaped 
the south wall to seize the banner, only to be 
caught by the heels by its vigorous wardens and 
tumbled ignominiously into the drifts without. 


“HOLDING THE FORT ’ 


9 


More than once St. Elmer’s blue and white tot- 
tered and went down under the crash of a well- 
aimed snowball; but it was promptly caught up 
and replaced in waving triumph on its shining 
tower. The winter sun had dropped in ruddy 
glory behind the river hills before the deep-toned 
college bell called twice to end the combat. 

Even snowballs, molded and sped by such 
sturdy young hands, can do a certain amount of 
work. Burly Bill’s right eye was closed for re- 
pairs, and Dick Barton’s bleeding nose had dyed 
the last of his ammunition a bright crimson ; while 
Captain Teddy had a cut upon his cheek from a 
missile that Jack Frost had sharpened into an 
edged blade. But the opposing armies met in 
great good-humor. 

“ We’ll get that blue bonnet ribbon of yours to- 
morrow,” said the Captain of the Pubs, as he 
pulled himself into his great-coat. 

“Try it!” tersely replied Captain Ted, as he 
shouldered the staff of his banner and prepared to 
climb the college hill. 

“Bill called it a ‘blue bonnet ribbon,’ ” said lit- 
tle Bob, indignantly. “If I had been as big as 
you, I’d have smashed his nose for it, Ted.” 

“And made a row and spoiled all our fun to- 


IO 


" HOLDING THE FORT ’ 


morrow ?” answered his officer. “Pooh, no! 
Never force a fight, Bob. That’s what my father, 
who is one of the pluckiest men in the world, has 
always taught me. Never force a fight; but, 
once you’re in for it, stand your ground, and make 
the other chap sorry that he tackled you. That’s 
Shakespeare, father says — though it doesn’t 
sound like it — and good Yankee grit besides. 
And that’s what father does, too. Say! if you 
could have seen how he laid out the burglar that 
got into our house last winter — floored him with 
one blow of his fist ! He learned boxing from an 
English master, and has got it down fine. He 
gives me lessons when we are down at Edgewater 
for the holidays.” 

“It must be fine to have a father like that!” 
sighed little Bob, whose parental tuition had been 
of a rather different order. 

“You bet it is!” answered Ted, emphatically. 
“My dad’s a dandy — not much for talking, but 
every word he says goes straight.” 

“Ever thrash you?” asked Bob, with interest. 

“Once,” replied Captain Ted, frankly. “I 
went in swimming in Six Mile Run, against or- 
ders, and then lied about it.” 

“Lied?” echoed little Bob, somewhat startled 


“HOLDING THE FORT” n 

by this open confession. " I didn’t know you ever 
lied, Ted.” 

“I don’t,” answered Ted; “I never have since 
and never will again, but I did that once, sure. 
I was a little chap of nine, and got in with some 
rough country fellows, that called me 'Dolly 
Boy,’ and 'Miss Prissy,’ because I wore good 
clothes and minded my mother. And I turned 
fool and went in swimming with them, where the 
river was forty feet deep and running like a mill- 
race beneath the cliffs. I was carried half a mile 
down the stream, and nearly drowned; and I got 
home so blue and cold and scared that I hadn’t 
any pluck left in me; and when father asked me 
where I had been, a lie popped out before I knew 
it.” 

"They will do that sometimes,” said little Bob, 
seriously. 

"But my father knew,” continued Ted. "My! 
how his eyes did blaze and how he lit into me! 
’Twasn’t for the swimming — he wouldn’t have 
minded that so much — but it was the lie that got 
him. I wasn’t blue and cold long, I tell you ! And 
that night, after I was in bed, he came and talked 
to me. He told me he’d rather have me drowned 
a thousand times than see me live to be a coward 


12 


“HOLDING THE FORT” 


and a cad — a liar. And I put my arms around 
his neck and promised him I would never tell an- 
other lie as long as I lived. And I haven’t — I 
won’t ever again. I’d rather be killed first,” con- 
cluded Teddy, as he gave a twitch to his banner 
that had been caught in a snow-wreathed thorn 
bush, and, freeing the fluttering colors, bore them 
up the college hill. 

Kind eyes were watching him from the granite- 
framed windows. 

“Here he comes,” said Brother Michael. “And 
he’s clean done out with the day’s sport, the poor 
lad ! Sure and me heart went down in me boots 
when I heard Teddy Thornton was to be left here 
for the holidays this year. He’d be heading some 
mad mischief, I knew ; so I told him how the boys 
had built a fine fort on the campus five years ago, 
and I wondered if he could beat it; and he went 
at it as if it were to win heaven itself for him. 
There’s no half-way for Teddy either in work or 
play.” 

“Poor boy!” Father Bolton’s face was grave 
and pitiful as he watched the young standard- 
bearer climbing the sunset hill. “This will be a 
sad change for him, I fear !” 

“Sure it will that !” said Brother Michael, with 


“HOLDING THE FORT’ 


13 


a catch in his voice. "It's he that always had the 
bold, warm heart and the open hand. You mind, 
the Finneys were all down with the fever last 
winter, and you gave orders that no boy was to 
go near their little place by the south wall ? Didn't 
I find Teddy Thornton with all his month's 
pocket-money tied to the end of a pole reaching 
it to Micky Finney's window to buy oranges? 
And we all know he took penance for three days 
and paid damages rather than tell it was little Bob 
Connors that broke the chapel window with his 
baseball. 'My father won't mind a few dollars,' 
he said; 'but Bob's got a dad that would kick at 
a dime.' And now — now! Sure couldn't you keep 
the bad news from him until to-morrow, Father? 
The creature is worn out with the sport to- 
night." 

"I’m afraid not. Teddy's mother will be ex- 
pecting him at once." 

"The poor woman! It's the black sorrow that 
she is supping this night. And how many chil- 
dren are there besides Teddy?" 

"Three, I think — two girls and a baby boy. 
Ted is the oldest." 

"And he not fourteen," sighed Brother 
Michael. "Ochone! ochone! The ways of the 


H 


r HOLDING THE FORT” 


Lord are wonderful, indeed ! Here the lad comes 
now. You’ll not be wanting me any more, Fa- 
ther?” 

“No,” answered the Rector. “Just tell Teddy 
I want to see him here.” 

And, feeling very much as if he were luring a 
young lamb to slaughter, Brother Michael slipped 
out on the broad porch, just as Captain Ted, 
bearing his colors, came up the steps, flushed and 
breathless. 

“There it is, Brother — there’s the flag! Those 
fellows didn’t lay a finger on it, did they, Bob? 
My! it was a fine fight! We just knocked the 
Pubs to flinders. They couldn’t get an inch on 
us. And Fort Kostka is standing without a crack 
or a hole, for all their pounding. Did you see the 
fun?” 

“I did, Teddy dear — I did,” said Brother 
Michael tremulously. “And — and” — he paused, 
choked somehow by the sight of the bright, boyish 
face so radiant in its triumph. 

“We got those Ninety-Six boys you brag on all 
beaten to bang, haven’t we now?” 

“Sure you have, Teddy — you have,” said the 
old Brother, with a break in his voice. “I’ll never 
brag on the Ninety-Sixers again. You’ve got 


“HOLDING THE FORT ” 15 

them all beat this day, sure. And, Teddy lad, the 
Father Rector is ” 

“He saw it, too,” interrupted Teddy, jubilantly. 
“He was up at his window, waving his handker- 
chief. And Father Roland and Father Murray, 
too. I got a cut from a frozen snowball that 
made the blood fly ; but I didn’t even feel it, I was 
in such a whirl. We’ll hold that Fort against the 
Pubs all winter. Brother Michael. Oh, it’s the 
jolliest sport I ever tried! If you’ll take care of 
this flag until I want it again ” 

“I will, Teddy — I will take care of it for you,” 
said the old Brother huskily, as he took the staff 
with its white Crusader’s cross from the boy’s 
hand. “I’ll keep it for you, lad, until you want it 
again. And now, Teddy, sure the Father Rector 
is asking for you, lad.” 

“Asking for me!” exclaimed Teddy, in amaze- 
ment. “The Father Rector asking for me! 
Where?” 

“Up in his room, lad. I’m thinking — ” there 
was no mistaking the break in Brother Michael’s 
voice now — “I’m thinking, Teddy, it’s news from 
home.” 


CHAPTER II 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


eddy's brown eyes cast one bewildered look 



-A- at Brother Michael — a look that went to 
that good old man's heart — and then the boy 
was up the granite steps, into the Father 
Rector's room with a bound. The red glow of 
the sunset sky through the stone-arched window, 
the snow-wreathed vine tapping against the pane, 
the grave, clear-cut, kindly face that turned at his 
brusque entrance, made a picture on our young 
Captain's memory forever. 

“Is there — bad news for me, Father?" he 
panted. 

“Yes, Teddy," a kind hand was laid on his 
shoulder, “bad news, my boy !" 

“My mother?" gasped Teddy quickly. 

“Not of your mother, my son : your father." 

“My father!" a low, sharp cry broke from the 
boy's lips. “Dad!" 

“He is very ill," the Rector went on with mer- 
ciful haste. “He had a stroke of paralysis this 
morning. It was brought on by business losses. 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


i7 

Your mother has sent for you, my boy. You 
must go home and comfort her.” 

“Will — will dad die?” asked Ted, in a voice 
that sounded strange and hard to his ears. 

“That I can not say, my son,” was the grave 
answer. “The doctors fear the worst, but God is 
good. We will all pray for him. In any case, 
your place is by your mother's side. You must be 
strong, brave, manly for her sake; you will be a 
true son to her I know. And, remember, if St. 
Elmer's can do anything for you, my boy, you 
have friends here, friends who never forget. 
There — there! let the tears come, Ted. Don't 
mind me.” 

“Thank you, Father, but they won't,” said the 
boy, huskily. “I — I — dad isn't — isn't dead yet, 
is he, Father?” 

“Oh, no, no; and there is still hope for him, my 
boy ! There is always hope while there is life. I 
have had your gripsack packed, and there is a 
train within the hour that will get you home at 
midnight. You have no time to lose.” 

Then it was all like a dim twilight dream to 
Teddy: the hurried parting from St. Elmer's in 
the gathering dusk of the white evening; the brief, 
hushed preparation, so different from the usual 


i8 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


riotous joy of "going home”; the tender sym- 
pathy of his teachers’ hand-clasp; the odd con- 
straint of the boy’s good-bys; the sudden, sol- 
emn silence that seemed to have fallen on the glad 
music of his young life. 

The supper bell clanged its cheery summons as 
he passed down the wide staircase; the merry 
shouts of the little boys echoed from their play- 
room; the deep, clear note of the Angelus came 
from the high clock tower — -all the old familiar 
sounds seemed strange and far away to-night. It 
was as if he had been lifted into ways apart that 
they did not clearly reach. 

Little Bob Connors, waiting at the end of the 
long corridor, slipped a small, half-frozen hand 
into Teddy’s and said in an awed voice: 

"You’re not going for good, Ted?” 

"I — I don’t know, Bobby,” was the low answer. 
"It’s father, you know — and — and ” 

"I know, and I’m sorry for you, Ted!” con- 
tinued Bob, rushing in with ten-year-old daring 
where neither angels nor Father Bolton just now 
dared tread. "I’m — I’m sorrier than I can tell, 
Ted. And here’s the fountain pen Uncle Rob 
sent me Christmas. I want you to take it, Ted, 
for keeps. I ain’t never forgot about the chapel 


1 GATHERING CLOUDS 


19 

window.” And poor little Bob broke down with 
an irrepressible sniffle. 

“Shoo! we’re square on that long ago,” said 
Ted gruffly. “I don’t want to take your pen, 
Bobby.” 

“Please, Ted, please! I want you to have it. 
It’s a fine one, never squirts or blots. Take it to 
remember me by, Ted.” 

“All right, then!” was the answer, and Ted 
gave a hard squeeze to the little frozen fingers 
that held the gift ; and Bobby seemed to vanish in 
the twilight shadows as Father Bolton stopped to 
speak a paternal good-by and “God bless you, Ted !” 

And then the college sleigh, that had carried off 
so many merry, whooping crowds to the depot, 
was at the door; and, springing into the silent, 
empty seat, Ted was whirled off down the snowy 
avenue ; while the lights twinkling from the gray 
stone windows of St. Elmer’s seemed to glimmer 
through a mist — a new, strange mist — in Captain 
Teddy’s eyes. 

But the plunge into the life, the light, the roar, 
the bustle of the great depot, was a bracer. A 
night journey alone was something new and stir- 
ring in Ted’s experience. The mists cleared from 
his eyes under the flash of the arc lights, and the 


20 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


strange weight on his heart lifted as he felt the 
strong, cheery pulse of the life around him. 
“There is still hope,” Father Bolton had said, and 
at fourteen a whisper of hope is enough. One 
does not need a whole brass band to quicken the 
young heart-beats again. 

And there was a big rush at the ticket window, 
and our young Captain had to hold his place stren- 
uously against the push behind; for there was a 
great political convention in Teddy’s native city 
that was drawing excited crowds, and the thrill of 
it all was in the air. Extra trains were on, and the 
great engines on the tracks were shrieking and 
puffing impatiently. 

“A dollar for your place, youngster!” said a 
big, brown-faced man, who had just dashed in, 
breathless with haste and excitement. “I’ve a 
lot of baggage to check, and want my ticket right 
off. A dollar!” 

“No, thank you, sir!” said Teddy, flushing. “I 
don’t want a dollar, but you can have my place. 
I have no baggage to look after.” And he stepped 
out of line. 

“Thanks!” said the other. “You haven’t 
learned the grab game yet, I see, my lad. Hustle 
to the end of the line, or you’ll get left, as gener- 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


21 


ally happens to boys of your pattern. Or stay ! Til 
buy your ticket for you. Where are you going ?” 

“New York by the next train/’ answered Ted. 

“All right! I’ll fix things for you. Never mind 
the money now. Just take Dolly out of this push 
and wait in the ladies’ room for me.” 

“Dolly?” exclaimed Ted, looking around 
blankly. 

“That’s me!” said a little voice from between 
two stout ladies at his right. “Oh, take me out of 
this crowd, please! I’m being just mashed to 
death.” And a very small young person, who 
seemed chiefly furs and curls, looked up at him 
beseechingly. 

The two stout ladies held their own, and feath- 
ers and furs seemed mixed inextricably. But Cap- 
tain Ted was equal to the emergency. With a 
sudden swing of his arm, he caught Miss Dolly 
out of the crush, and, perching her on his broad 
shoulder, bore her triumphantly into the clear 
space beyond, where he set her down to straighten 
her ruffled plumage like a bewildered little pigeon. 

“It was the only way to get you out,” he apolo- 
gized. “You mustn’t mind. I’ve whisked my lit- 
tle brother through a push that way many a time.” 

“But I’m not your little brother,” said Miss 


22 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


Dolly, severely. “I suppose, though, you had to 
get me out, or I would have been squeezed to 
death. I ought to have staid in the carriage, as 
Jack told me.” 

“Jack?” echoed Ted in surprise. 

“Yes; my father. I always call him Jack. He 
likes it best. It was mama’s name for him, and 
she is dead.” 

“Oh, I see!” muttered Ted softly. 

“We were in such a hurry!” said Miss Dolly 
in her silvery treble. “Jack had a telegram that 
he must come right back. We’ve been spending 
the Christmas holidays with grandma in the coun- 
try. She wanted to keep me, but Jack said, ‘No, 
siree! I couldn’t do without my little house- 
keeper.’ And he couldn't continued Miss Dolly, 
with a shake of her curls. “He is such a stupid 
old Jack! He can’t even sweeten his tea. And 
when I am at grandmother’s he never goes home 
at all — just stays at his club with men. He says 
things don’t go right at all when I’m away.” 

They had reached the ladies’ room, and Miss 
Dolly swung herself up into a cushioned seat, 
looking small but important. 

“Aren’t you a little young for that sort of 
business?” asked Ted curiously. 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


23 

“I'm seven and a half,” answered the young 
lady. “How old are you?” 

“Nearly fourteen,” said Ted. 

“That’s a great deal older than seven and a half, 
isn’t it?” asked Miss Dolly reflectively. “It’s 
almost grown up.” 

“Well, it’s getting there,” replied Ted, who felt 
ten years older since the sun went down on Fort 
Kostka this evening. 

“I thought you were a boy,” said Miss Dolly in 
a disappointed tone. 

“I am,” answered Ted, “just a big boy yet. 
Teddy is my name, Teddy Thornton.” 

“A good name!” said a hearty voice behind 
him, and Miss Dolly’s “Jack” clapped him on the 
shoulder. “A good name, and a good fellow, I’ll 
be bound; though I haven’t time to improve our 
acquaintance, for my train is being called now. 
Here’s your ticket, my boy; and thank you!” 

“And the money for it, sir!” said Ted, taking 
out his pocketbook. 

“God bless me, I forgot the money! I haven’t 
time to wait for it now. Send it to me some other 
time. Here’s my card. Dolly dear, we haven’t 
a moment to lose ! Come !” 

“Good-by! good-by! good-by!” called the 


24 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


sweet little voice, as “Jack’s housekeeper” was 
whisked through the opening gates where so 
many ways touch for one swift moment to part 
forever. “Good-by, Teddy.” And, with a last 
glimpse of the fluttering feathers, Ted’s quaint 
little fairy friend vanished. 

He looked at the card he held. “John J. Jarvis, 
Dunmore,” was its inscription. And then his own 
train was called, and he hurried on to take his 
place, and be whirled away through the darkness 
to meet the Sorrow whose thrilling whisper, 
reaching over these long miles of space, had called 
him home. 

And as he sped along over the shadowy hills 
and faint-gleaming river, through the flashing 
lights of city and town, and out into the calm, 
starlit spaces beyond, the fear and grief that had 
been stifled for a few bright moments woke again 
in Ted’s heart. His father, his brave, strong, 
loving, tender dad — dying; perhaps — perhaps — 
ah, Teddy’s thoughts and lips could not shape the 
terrible word — dead! 

If it had been his mother — his gentle, frail, 
delicate mother — it would not have seemed so 
strange, so bewildering, so incomprehensible. She 
was ill so often ; ever since he could remember he 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


25 


had been hustled off so that his shouts and noise 
should not reach her ear. But his father, his big, 
six-foot dad, who was always cheery and well, 
who never had aches or nerves, dad stricken down 
in all his health and strength and cheery life! It 
seemed impossible. 

And then — for it had been a tough day on him 
— Captain Ted’s curly head sank back on the vel- 
vet-cushioned seat, and he drifted off into a 
dreamland, where Burly Bill and his Pubs were 
charging a snowy ticket office, and a little golden- 
haired fairy sat under a blue banner pouring out 
“Jack’s” tea; while Teddy himself, armed with a 
fountain pen, was squirting ink on all who came 
near. 

And then — then — was it Brother Michael shak- 
ing him from his pillow in the dormitory? Was 
it the rising bell of St. Elmer’s clanging so loudly 
in his ear? 

“Wake up, youngster, wake up !” The gilt but- 
tons of the conductor flashed before his half-open 
eyes. “You don’t want to stay here all night!” 

The lights of the great station were gleaming 
around him. His journey was at an end, he was 
home. 


CHAPTER III 


A HOME-COMING 

H ow Captain Ted made the rest of the jour- 
ney he never knew, his brain was in such a 
whirl, his heart beating so wildly with love and 
hope and sickening fear. It seemed all a mad 
dash and scurry through the midnight streets, 
until he stood breathless before his father's house, 
that rose tall in the darkness, and still with an aw- 
ful silence which he trembled to break. 

But no black pennant as yet fluttered from its 
door, and Ted's heart gave a wild bound of relief 
as he sprang up the steps and touched the bell. 
There was a patter of little feet in the hall, the big 
door swung open, and then his two sisters, Kit 
and Nell, were hugging Ted hysterically; while 
curly-haired Rick, aroused from the unusual ex- 
perience of a midnight nap on the hearth rug, 
sleepily rubbed his eyes in the background. 

“Dad?" questioned Ted, breathlessly. 

“He is better, Ted — better!" 

“Whoop-a-loo !" cried the young Captain, in ir- 
repressible delight. 


26 


A HOME-COMING 


27 


(( 0 Ted, hush ! hush !" exclaimed little Kit, in a 
scandalized whisper. “We mustn't make a breath 
of noise, the nurse says, or he'll get worse. Mama 
said we might all wait up for you, because they've 
taken our room and we were afraid to go up in 
the third story alone." 

“And the doctors have been here all evening — 
three of them," continued little flaxen-haired Nell, 
as her sister paused in her excited story. “And 
Father Bryan came, too. And we didn't have any 
real dinner at all, Ted. Margaret was too done 
out, she said, to cook. And, oh, everything is 
going wrong !" 

“Let it go!" said Ted, dropping down on the 
big lounge in the library, and mopping his brow, 
where, despite the wintry night, great drops of 
sweat stood out like beads. “As long as dear old 
dad is all right, nobody cares. Cracky! I never 
had such a scare in my life!" 

“Oh, but dad isn’t all right!" said Kit, sol- 
emnly. “He won't be well for a good while, 
Aunt Fan says." 

“Oh, she is croaking around, is she?" said Ted 
bluntly. 

“She's been expecting this a long time," said 
Nell, shaking her head. 


28 


A HOME-COMING 


“Of course she has!” replied Ted. “For down- 
right black-crow croaking, Aunt Fan has that 
Cassandra we were studying about the other day 
beaten to a finish.” 

“You see, it was losing all his money that 
nearly killed dad,” continued Nellie. “He put 
all he had in socks, and they fell down 
and ” 

“ Stocks you mean, Nell,” put in Ted. 

“Well, maybe; it was something to wear, I 
know. And we’re all going to be beggars now. 
Where mama will get bread to put in our mouths, 
Aunt Fan says she doesn’t know.” 

“Oh, cut all that out, girls!” said Ted cheerily. 
“You’ve got things mixed up bad.” 

“No, indeed, we haven’t — we haven’t, Ted!” 
was the eager answer. “Aunt Fan said so this 
evening. We heard it plain.” 

“We won’t be beggars, will we, Ted,” said lit- 
tle Rick, nestling close to his brother, “because 
we're boys?” 

“That we are!” said Ted, drawing the curly 
head to his breast; “and the right kind of boys, 
Rick. There will be no begging done in this 
family while you and I are around to manage 
things, you can bet. Now, girls, see if you can’t 


A HOME-COMING 


29 

take a clear, straight start and tell me all you 
know.” 

And then Ted learned, with many breaks and 
dashes from the point, that dad had gone to his 
office that morning apparently well, and had been 
brought home at noon in a carriage, voiceless and 
senseless, while the whole great city was thrilling 
with the fall in the stock market that had brought 
ruin to thousands of homes. 

And while Ted was still sitting, blank and dis- 
mayed under this new phase of family trouble, 
Aunt Fan appeared. Aunt Fan's appearance in 
the family circle, even on the most roseate occa- 
sions, was always rather depressing. She was 
“dad's” widowed sister, who lived in a small 
apartment of her own, but had kept a disapprov- 
ing eye upon her brother’s household ever since 
his marriage. Everything had gone wrong there, 
according to Aunt Fan, who never had any chil- 
dren of her own, and who felt that measles and 
mumps and tumbles down the back stairs were 
all the result of bad management. 

“Poor, dear Laura,” as Aunt Fan called Ted’s 
gentle invalid mother, was responsible for all — 
responsible even, the good lady felt, for the fall in 
stocks and poor “brother's” illness. 


30 


A HOME-COMING 


“Goodness gracious! you children up yet!” 
exclaimed Aunt Fan, as she saw the group 
in the library. “There is no law or order in 
this unhappy house ! Go to bed at once ! 
And, and, Theodore, I did not know you had 
come! Your poor mother has been asking for 
you.” 

“May I go to her?” inquired Ted eagerly. 

“Not yet. She is with your father and you 
might disturb him. The blow has fallen just as 
I expected it, Theodore — the blow that I have 
been looking for all these years. My poor, poor 
brother !” 

And Aunt Fan, who was fat and flabby, with 
dull gray eyes and a face creased into unhappy 
lines, sank down into a chair with a dismal sigh 
that made Ted's heart sink. 

“But he is better, the girls say, Aunt Fan.” 

“Better!” echoed that lady, shaking her head. 
“I don’t see it. He may pull through, as the doc- 
tors declare; but I doubt it. I am prepared for 
the worst, Theodore, the very worst. And what 
is to become of this hapless, helpless family, I 
am sure I don’t know.” 

Ted felt that he did not know, either, as he 
looked at Aunt Fan sitting, heavy and dreary, in 


A HOME-COMING 


3i 

her drab flannel wrapper. Hope seemed to die 
in his young heart. 

“Not a dollar of life insurance, your poor 
mother tells me! Everything in his business,” 
Aunt Fan went on, with a despairing sigh. 
“And that business is a wreck, I understand — 
a perfect wreck. Mr. Wirt was here this even- 
ing and I questioned him closely. He says 
everything has been swept away — everything; 
that your poor father went down under the 
shock that left him beggared and ruined. And 
the doctors say that, even if he recovers, he 
will be a helpless invalid for months, maybe 
years.” 

“Beggared! ruined! helpless!” Awful words 
that seemed to thunder into Ted’s ears as Aunt 
Fan droned drearily on. Beggared ! ruined ! help- 
less ! Sturdy, plucky fellow that he was, a sicken- 
ing sense of weakness came over him. What could 
he do? What could a boy not fourteen do, with 
the strong master of the wrecked ship lying sense- 
less at his post, and the breakers dashing over the 
drifting hulk? 

And then, as our Captain stood dazed and 
weak and despairing, there came the trip of light- 
slippered feet down the stairs, a frou-frou of 


32 


A HOME-COMING 


silken skirts, and the breath of spring violets 
swept into the room. 

“Teddy, Teddy, my darling boy!” called a 
sweet, silvery voice, and his mother's arms were 
around him, his dainty, delicate, beautiful little 
mother, looking like a picture in her silken ki- 
mono, with the golden curls, so like Nell's, falling 
loose about her sweet face, the fever flush of ex- 
citement on her pale cheek, the fever light of anx- 
iety in her eye. 

Oh, how little, how frail, how lovely she 
looked as she fell sobbing on Teddy's broad 
breast ! 

“My boy, my darling boy! Your father — your 
dear, dear father! Oh, help me to bear it, Teddy 
— help me to bear it, my boy — my big, brave, 
strong boy !” 

Help her! — help her! At that low cry Teddy 
felt heart and hand and head suddenly steady into 
strange, new strength, that Aunt Fan's tears and 
groans could never shake again. Help her, this 
sweet, frail, lovely little mother! Teddy seemed # 
to shoot up several feet taller as he clasped her to 
his heart. 

“Help you, little mother darling! You bet I 
will ! I am here to stand the whole push,” he an- 


A HOME-COMING 


33 

swered cheerily. “The doctors say they will pull 
dad through, and •” 

“Yes, yes, they give me hope — they give me 
hope, Teddy! Oh, I should die without it!” she 
sobbed. “But it may be months — long months — 
before he is himself again.” 

“A little tough on poor dad ; but we can stand 
it, if he can,” said Teddy bravely. 

“And did they tell you we had lost — lost 
everything, my boy?” 

“Everything? Not by a long shot, when we 
have each other ! Dad went down pretty heavy in 
the stock market, I heard ; but lots of other men do 
the same, and come up all right. Don't you worry, 
little mother. We’ll pull through. You just coddle 
dad well again, and I’ll do the rest.” 

“You!” exclaimed Aunt Fan gloomily. “You 
don’t know what you are talking about, you poor 
foolish boy! What in the name of Heaven can 
you do, child?” 

“Lots, as you’ll see, Aunt Fan,” said Ted 
pluckily. “Father Bolton told me to come home 
and stand by my mother like a man ; and he is no 
fool talker, you bet!” 

“My own dear boy ! Ah, if you were a man in- 
deed, Teddy!” sighed his mother. 


34 


A HOME-COMING 


“I am man enough for this job, little mother!” 
was the bright answer. “You just brace up, and 
watch me hold this family fort through the fight.” 

And Mrs. Thornton had to smile through her 
tears, as Captain Teddy nodded his curly head, 
and pressed his rosy lips into the grim, determined 
line of the picture that hung over the mantel — 
the old great-grandfather, another “Captain 
Teddy Thornton,” who had held the Heights of 
Dorchester against the redcoats more than one 
hundred and twenty years ago. 

Then mother and son went upstairs together, 
and Teddy found himself standing, choked and 
silent, in the dim, spacious room where dad lay 
upon the white bed, dull and mute and helpless, 
only the dark, restless eyes telling that life lin- 
gered still in the stricken form. It was a scene 
that Teddy never forgot. Often in the after- 
time it came back to him vivid in every detail: 
the dim, shaded light in the corner; the white- 
draped table, with the crucifix and tapers telling 
of good Father Bryan’s visit; the little Sister of 
Bon Secours seated motionless by the bed; the 
pungent odors that filled the air; the awful, sol- 
emn hush over all. 

“Speak to him,” whispered his mother. “He 


A HOME-COMING 35 

can hear, he can understand, though, alas ! he can 
not speak.” 

But Teddy was voiceless. Looking on the dear 
face so strange and rigid, into the dear eyes so 
mute and bright, his lips could shape no word. 
For one dreadful moment Teddy's heart seemed 
bursting with its pain and grief ; then he fell upon 
his knees with a great sob he could no longer hold. 

“Dad!” he cried, hoarsely — “dear, dear, old 
dad!” 

And the boyish cry seemed to thrill some 
deadened heart-chord into life again. 

“Ted!” came the faint, faltering answer from 
the slow-moving lips. “Stand by your — mother, 
Ted — stand by, my boy — stand by!” 

“Oh, he has spoken — he has spoken, Sister 
Felicie!” cried Mrs. Thornton rapturously. “The 
doctor said if he spoke he would get well.” 

And the little Sister smiled a nun's sweet, tran- 
quil smile. 

“Yes, God is good, mon ami! As we have 
prayed ! He will get well !” 


CHAPTER IV 


A MORNING WALK 

S ister Felicie was right. Slowly the Shadow 
of Death lifted from the Thornton home. But 
its blight remained. “Dad” was left weak and 
helpless as a little child. The days lengthened in- 
to weeks ; the three doctors ceased their morning 
consultations; Sister Felicie, her duty done, flitted 
off to other homes ; and still the sick man grew no 
stronger, but lay with his hand stretched out feebly 
to clasp “little mother’s,” dreamily forgetful of 
all that had passed. 

Ted held his post manfully. The servants hav- 
ing scattered from the ruined household, he 
shoveled coal into the furnace, and snow from the 
sidewalk; he paid bills, he ran errands, he lifted 
dad in his strong young arms, and buttoned little 
Rick into his jacket and trousers every morning. 
He filled the saddened house with his life and 
cheer. 

“I really don’t see how you can whistle, Theo- 
dore!” said Aunt Fan in one of her mournful visi- 
tations. 


36 


A MORNING WALK 


37 


“Better whistle than whine,” replied Ted, as he 
snapped his fingers to Bowser, who sprang up 
from the hearth rug for a morning walk. 

For Bowser, too, needed cheering. He had 
been sadly out of spirits since dad’s illness. Some- 
thing was wrong, he knew, though he could not 
exactly fix the trouble. Two or three times he 
had stolen into his master’s room, where they had 
found him licking dad’s helpless hand. There was 
no answering word or stroke; and that puzzled 
Bowser, for he and dad had been chums before 
Ted was born. If dad had been dead, he would 
have understood, and howled in dog fashion ; but 
he felt that howling would be improper now. So 
he lay on the hearth rug and blinked and 
growled, and was snappish in his temper, and 
generally miserable. He even forgot the beef 
bones he had buried in the back yard, and began 
to grow as lean and long-jawed as a hungry wolf. 
Only Ted knew how to rouse him. And now 
when Ted snapped his fingers and whistled, Bow- 
ser felt things could not be altogether wrong. 

“There’s something the matter with that dog,” 
said Aunt Fan sharply. “He has been sulking for 
days. It’s a sure sign of hydrophobia. I’d have 
him chained up.” 


38 


A MORNING WALK 


“Chain old Bowser! I’d like to see any one try 
it!” answered Ted, with a sparkle in his eye. “He 
is grieving for dad, that’s all that is the matter 
with him ; isn’t it, old chap ? And he wants a run 
in the snow, don’t you, Bowser? Come on, old 
fellow, and have a race !” 

And at the cheery call, Bowser shook off his 
troubles and went leaping and barking joyously 
at his young master’s heels; while Aunt Fan 
sighed a thanksgiving that she had no chil- 
dren. 

“Racing and whistling in times like these!” 
groaned the good lady. “Boys have no feeling at 
all.” 

If she had known the anxious thoughts that 
were filling Ted’s curly head this morning, Aunt 
Fan’s opinion of boys might have changed consid- 
erably. His feelings were almost too much for 
him to-day ; and he must work them off somehow, 
or there would be a blow up. 

Ted’s duties were becoming complicated. It 
was all very well to go to market and run errands 
and pay bills as long as their little money had 
lasted, but now there was nothing to pay with. 
Only this morning mama, who had very vague 
ideas indeed about money matters, had sent him to 


A MORNING WALK 


39 


the bank with a check, and he had been tersely 
told that her account was overdrawn. And the 
landlord had sent twice for the rent already ; the 
coal bin was nearly empty, the grocery bill due; 
and the pretty little mother, sitting in the quiet 
chamber, with dad's hand in hers, knew as much 
about business as a canary does of Latin verbs. 
Ted's own brains were “cobwebby," as Mr. Mar- 
tin used to say when the boys in his class could 
not see through their mathematical problems ; and 
Ted's brisk dash out into the wintry sunshine this 
morning was a desperate effort to clear the cob- 
webs away. It was the problem of a wrecked 
boat among the breakers, with only a fourteen- 
year-old captain at the helm. 

There were friends, it is true — friends who 
came to inquire after dad, and sent flowers and 
jelly and fruit to his sick-room; but it would be 
altogether out of the question for “friends" to con- 
sider groceries and coal. 

And though the brisk walk in the frosty air 
brought bright winter roses to Ted's cheek, and 
made old Bowser forget his troubles and remem- 
ber the beef bones buried in the back yard, the 
“cobwebs" were not scattered at all when a fa- 
miliar voice hailed Teddy. 


40 


A MORNING WALK 


“Hello!” called a boy of about his own age. 
“Ted, old chap, where did you drop from?” 

Ted stared for a moment at the boy, and then 
his eyes flashed recognition. 

“O Jimmy Lane!” he exclaimed in astonish- 
ment. 

Jimmy Lane, the ne’er-do-well of St. Elmer’s, 
the toughest, the roughest, the dullest of his class, 
buttoned up to the throat in a swell overcoat, a 
nobby hat set rakishly on his sandy hair, kid 
gloves on his stubby hands, his shoes brushed to 
a dazzling shine! This, Jimmy Lane! It was no 
wonder that Ted’s eyes opened in amazement at 
the transformation. 

“It’s nobody else,” answered his old school- 
mate, grinning. “I’ve struck luck, you see, since 
they bounced me from St. Elmer’s. How are 
things at the old dungeon? And what are you 
doing out of bounds this time of year ?” 

“Trouble at home,” responded Ted briefly; 
while Bowser gave an impatient bark, as if he 
would like to move on. 

“Trouble, eh? Nobody dead, I hope?” 

“No, but father has been very ill, and has lost 
all his money.” 

“Geewhillikins ! that is bad!” said Jim. 


A MORNING WALK 


4i 


“Caught in the snap a few weeks ago, I guess. 
Lots of good men were. Left you skinned, eh?” 

“Yes,” answered Ted, warmed up despite him- 
self by his schoolmate's sympathy; and again 
wise old Bowser barked his advice that it would 
be well for them to continue their walk. 

“Tough luck, sure!” said Jim, nodding sagely. 
“But your mother has plenty of folks well fixed 
to stand by her.” 

“No,” responded Teddy. “Mr. Wirt was 
dad's lawyer, but he had to go to Europe three 
weeks ago; his wife was ill and cabled for him. 
And we haven't any grandfather or uncles or any- 
body. Mother has no one but me.” 

“She hasn't?” exclaimed Jim, staring incredu- 
lously; for Teddy Thornton, trig and well 
dressed, with his holiday boxes, and his pocket- 
money, had seemed, to his envious eyes, one of 
the lucky boys whom troubles never reach. 

“And all our money is gone, and I've got to go 
to work for her,” continued Teddy resolutely. 
“Where is the best place to look for work, Jim? 
Do you know ?” 

“Looking for work, eh?” Jim's little blue eyes 
blinked at the speaker's boyish face, in wonder at 
its frank simplicity; for, though Ted had led the 


42 


A MORNING WALK 


class at St. Elmer’s, while Jim slouched carelessly 
at its foot, our young Captain had yet to learn 
his first lessons in the school of the wicked world, 
where for the last eighteen months Jim had been 
an apt scholar. 

“What d’ye think you can do?” asked Jim. 

“Oh, anything!” replied Teddy, confidently. 
“Write letters, or make bills, or sell things, or col- 
lect money. I’d rather be a bank clerk or a book- 
keeper, though.” 

“Oh, you would?” said Jim, with a twitching 
around the corners of his mouth that showed he 
was holding back a grin. 

“I’m all right on bookkeeping,” continued Ted. 
“Went through the whole course last year, and 
took the ticket every month. Got the set of books 
home now — journal, ledger, and all — without a 
blot. Made only one mistake in the whole bunch. 
Put ten thousand for one thousand in the ledger, 
and got things sort of mixed up. But Mr. Mar- 
tin said I had the principles all right, and that 
mistakes like that didn’t count. Know all about 
banking, too — checks and drafts and bills of ex- 
change, and everything. Went through it year 
before last, after you left. If I could get a place 
as bookkeeper or bank clerk, Jim ” 


A MORNING WALK 


43 


“Maybe you can,” said Jim, in an odd tone, and 
the blue eyes fixed on Teddy’s face blinked curi- 
ously. “I’ve struck luck, as I told you. Got a fine 
place — twenty dollars a week, and plenty of 
plums thrown in.” 

“Twenty dollars a week!” echoed Ted breath- 
lessly. “Golly! that’s fine!” 

“Well, it’s pretty fair,” said Jim carelessly. “I 
mean to strike for a raise next month, and get it, 
too. My boss has the stuff to pay out, and he 
wants a bright young fellow now. I shouldn’t 
wonder if you’d suit him first-rate, Ted.” 

“Oh, do you think so?” asked Ted eagerly, 
with a remorseful consciousness of how he had 
looked down upon lazy Jim in the past. “If you’ll 
help me to get in, I’ll thank you forever, Jim. 
Mother needs money so much, you see!” 

“Oh, that’s all right !” said Jim hastily. “Come 
along and we’ll try for it right now. Just you 
talk up to them about the college bookkeeping 
and the banking, and you’ll make a strike of it, I 
know. George! that’s an ugly-tempered dog of 
yours! Does he growl like this all the time?” 

“No,” answered Ted, laughing. “He’s usually 
one of the best fellows in the world. He doesn’t 
like my stopping to talk. There, there, Bowser, 


44 


A MORNING WALK 


old chap! We’re going on again now. He’s been 
moping ever since dad has been sick, and I 
brought him out for a run. There, there, quiet, 
old boy! Come on!” 

And, though old Bowser still growled disap- 
provingly, Ted allowed Jim to lead him on 
through various cross-streets of which he knew 
nothing, until they reached a tall skyscraper that 
seemed to shoot up almost to the clouds, amid the 
dingy old rookeries around it. 

“This is our place,” said Jim, as he turned into 
the entrance that was very new and shiny, and 
sticky with fresh paint. “The ‘wharf rats’ call it 
‘The Bean Stalk,’ it went up so high and quick.” 

“I hope there is no giant to grind our bones at 
the top,” laughed Ted. 

And Jim laughed very loud indeed, as if Ted 
had made a great joke. 

“You can’t take your dog up in the elevator,” 
he said. “You’ll have to leave him here with 
Nick. Nick!” Jim snapped his fingers in a lordly 
way to a colored boy waiting in the hall. “Just 
look after this young gentleman’s dog until we 
get back, and I will have a tip for you.” 

“Will he bite?” asked Nick, regarding his 
bristling charge doubtfully. 


A MORNING WALK 


45 


“Not unless you try some fool tricks with him,” 
answered Ted. “Lie down there, Bowser! I’ll be 
back soon.” 

And, reassured by Ted’s tone, old Bowser, who 
was a little tired after his run, stretched himself 
out in the friendly warmth of the steam heater, 
while his young master shot up in the crim- 
son-cushioned elevator out of his help or 
reach. 

“Well, you are up high!” said Ted, as they 
went up and up, and still upward, until it seemed 
there was to be no stop to their flight. 

“Twentieth floor,” said Jim; “but you don't 
mind that when you get used to it. Here we are 
now! You just wait here in the hall while I go 
into our office and see if the boss is in.” 

Ted waited while Jim hurried on down the 
long corridor to a door at its end, where he tapped 
three times. The door slid open as if by some 
hidden pressure from within. 

Two young men were seated at the double desk 
playing cards. Their coats were oflf, and there 
was a bottle with glasses near, and the air was 
heavy with tobacco smoke. 

“Confound you, Imp!” said one of them, look- 
ing up angrily. “Didn’t I tell you to clear out 


46 


A MORNING WALK 


and not come near the place to-day? YouVe got 
your money and ” 

“ I know/’ replied Jim hurriedly. ‘Til get out 
in a minute, Mr. Trapp; and I promise you won’t 
see me for a week. But you said you wanted an- 
other boy.” 

“I don’t,” said the other with an oath — “no 
more boys of your picking, you rascal! I can 
stand you for the work you do, but I don’t want 
any more of your sort.” 

“He, he, he!” chuckled Jim. “Didn’t know 
this firm went in for the Sunday-school pattern. 
But this chap ain’t my sort. He brushes his hair 
and says his prayers every morning, and ain’t cut 
more than his milk-teeth. His father was caught 
in the crash the other day, and knocked to flin- 
ders; and Ted is out of school looking for a nice 
job — cashier or bank president — to support the 
family. He, he, he ! Just bring him in here and 
let him talk, and you’ll say that Teddy Thornton 
is just the sort of saphead you are looking for. 
You can pull the wool over his eyes and make 
him do anything you like.” 

“Thornton!” exclaimed the man who had not 
yet spoken, whirling around suddenly in his office 
chair. “T. B. Thornton’s son, is it? I heard the 


A MORNING WALK 


47 


firm went down with a crash the other day. 
You’ve got T. B. Thornton’s boy in tow, Imp, 
have you?” 

“Out there in the hall, waiting for the job,” 
answered Jim, with one of his wicked grins. 

“Bring him in,” said the last speaker impera- 
tively. “Here, Trapp, put your bottle and cards 
out of sight, and get into your coat. We must 
not open the youngster’s eyes too suddenly. I owe 
Mr. T. B. Thornton an old account — a very old 
account. He has forgotten it, I guess, but I 
haven’t,” and the sallow face of the junior partner 
in Jim’s firm darkened with an evil frown. “I’d 
like the chance to settle it with his boy.” 


CHAPTER V 


"the bean stalk" 

I n another moment Teddy stood at the door, 
his rosy young face bright with boyish eager- 
ness. 

"Walk right in," said Jim encouragingly. 
"Mr. Trapp and Mr. Sharkey, this is my friend, 
Teddy Thornton." 

"Sit down, young gentleman, and I’ll attend 
to you in a few minutes," said Mr. Trapp, who 
was very busy over a big ledger ; while the dark- 
eyed Mr. Sharkey, with bold, brisk strokes of the 
pen, was dashing off a letter on the other side of 
the desk. 

Captain Ted sat down in a very shiny chair, 
and looked around him with interest. Everything 
was bright and fresh and new, a little too fresh 
and new perhaps to please experienced eyes. It 
looked as if the firm, like the bean stalk, might 
have shot up in a night. But Teddy’s business 
education had not taught him to distrust fresh 
paint. 

Mr. Trapp, having settled a long column of 

48 


“THE BEAN STALK” 


49 


figures to his satisfaction, clapped a blotter on his 
big ledger, and, whirling round in his office chair, 
was ready to talk. But the dark-eyed Mr. Sharkey 
still wrote busily on. 

“Jim tells me you are looking for a place, 
young man,” began Mr. Trapp, who was rather 
stout and red-faced, and wore a large diamond 
scarf-pin. “Time is money in this firm, as you 
see; so we won’t waste needless words. What is 
your name and age, and where have you worked, 
and what can you do?” 

It was a brisk opening fire, but Captain Ted met 
it bravely. 

“My name is Theodore Thornton, sir, and I 
shall be fourteen in March. I am just from the 
grammar class in St. Elmer’s College, and have 
worked only at my books; but I will try to do 
anything you wish.” 

“Do you know anything about bookkeeping?” 
asked Mr. Trapp. 

“Oh, yes, sir !” was the answer. “I have taken 
the whole course, single and double entry. We 
did banking business, too — coupons and checks 
and everything, with red and white counters for 
money.” 

There was a slight cough from the other side 


50 


“THE BEAN STALK 


of the desk, but the dark-eyed Mr. Sharkey did 
not look up from his work. Jim had turned 
away, and was contemplating the bird’s-eye view 
from the window. 

“I’d like to get a job right away,” continued 
Ted. “Father’s ill and may not get well for 
months.” 

Then for the first time Mr. Sharkey looked up 
and spoke. 

“Does your father know you are looking for 
work?” he asked. 

“Oh, no, sir!” responded the boy sadly. “He 
doesn’t know anything. He had a stroke, the 
doctors call it, when his business went to pieces 
last month, and he has not known much about 
anything since. He will get all right, they say; 
but meantime our money is gone, and I’ve got to 
look after mother and the girls. You see, there 
is nobody else.” Ted’s brown eyes met with boy- 
ish confidence the dark, piercing gaze fixed upon 
his young face. “I am the oldest boy, and we 
haven’t any uncles or grandfather or — or any- 
body.” 

“I see,” answered Mr. Sharkey, “I see.” And 
the word came from his lips with a queer sound 
that resembled the hiss of a snake in the grass. “It 


“THE BEAN STALK” 51 

strikes me, Mr. Trapp,” he continued slowly, 
“that this boy is just the sort we want.” 

“I was just thinking the same thing,” replied 
his partner. “Of course we can’t give him charge 
of our books or our banking business just yet. 
But in time — when he learns — ahem — our meth- 
ods, he will be very useful to us.” 

“Very useful, I am sure,” added Mr. Sharkey; 
and again the same hiss seemed to come from his 
set teeth. 

“I will try, indeed, sir,” said Teddy eagerly. 

“We can pay you only ten dollars a week at 
first,” observed Mr. Trapp, who sat back in his 
chair, his diamond scarf-pin flashing and wink- 
ing like a watchful eye. “But, as Jim here will 
tell you, we are liberal. All extra service is extra 
pay, and we will increase your salary as you learn 
the business.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Ted, a little crestfallen, we must 
confess, when he thought of the landlord and the 
coal bin. Only ten dollars! Ted had a woful 
remembrance how his ten dollars of Christmas 
money had melted with no perceptible residue but 
a new jackknife and a pair of skates. 

Mr. Sharkey’s keen dark eyes caught the look, 
and Mr. Sharkey’s quick ear the disappointed tone. 


52 


“THE BEAN STALK" 


“Of course, as Mr. Trapp informs you, there 
are 'extras/ ” he hastened to add, “work after 
hours, at night especially." 

“Oh, I wouldn't mind night work at all, sir!" 
said Ted. “I just bathe my eyes now and then 
to keep them open, and I don't even wink. Hal 
Ellis taught me that trick last year when we sat 
up over our late exams." 

“You're the right sort, I see," said Mr. 
Sharkey, with a harsh laugh. “We'll put you on 
night work, then, at double pay, as soon as we 
can; and we’ll look for you to-morrow at nine 
o'clock sharp." 

“Thank you, sir!" was the bright answer. “I’ll 
be here sharp and sure." 

And Ted hurried away with Jim down the 
Bean Stalk, to rejoin old Bowser, who was sleep- 
ing on guard, as sometimes the wisest of dogs and 
soldiers will do; while Trapp, after closing the 
door by pressure of a noiseless spring at his feet, 
leaned back in his chair and shook with laughter 
that made the diamond in his scarf-pin blink and 
wink with glee. 

“How old did he say he was, Sharkey?" he 
asked at last. 

“Nearly fourteen," was the brief answer. 


“THE BEAN STALK ” 


S3 


“Fourteen! Good Lord! Fourteen! Why, six- 
year-old Tommy Bond is a sharper to him ! Four- 
teen ! Did you ever hear or see such an all-round 
simpleton, Sharkey ?” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Sharkey, who had risen 
from his chair and was looking moodily out of 
the high window. “I was once just such an all- 
round simpleton myself.” 

“You!” exclaimed his partner, with a hoarse 
laugh — “you, Ned Sharkey!” 

“Yes, I, Ned Sharkey,” repeated the other; and, 
as he turned from the window and faced his com- 
panion, there was a fierce glitter in his dark eye. 
“Perhaps you’ve heard the story how the devil 
was an angel once. Well, that’s my case. And 
it’s those angels that make the best or the worst 
kind of devils, as you can guess. They know 
the ropes and how to handle them. I’ve got a 
grudge against this young simpleton’s father, as 
I told you. He caught me at a little trick that 
would have made my fortune a dozen years ago. 
I am going to even up, if I can, with his 
boy.” 

“And turn another angel into a devil?” laughed 
Trapp coarsely. 

“Exactly,” answered Sharkey, and the evil light 


54 


“THE BEAN STALK” 


seemed to flame brighter in his dark eyes. “It may 
take a little time, but I think I can do it in the 
end.” 

5j< Jjc 5|c >jc ijc 

And Teddy went home, breathless with excite- 
ment, to tell the good news, that filled his little 
family with wondering delight and pride. 

“O Teddy dear,” cried his mother, half tear- 
fully, “it is so brave, so wise, so manly in you 
to find work so soon ! Oh, they are good men, I 
am sure, to take you up so quickly!” 

“Tip-toppers,” said Ted enthusiastically, “Jim 
says I’m in luck. I couldn’t get a better place.* 
Ten dollars a week isn’t much, of course; but I’ll 
begin to double it pretty soon, for I mean to work 
like a Turk for them. I told you I’d fix things. 
Do you think dad would feel better if we told 
him about it, mother?” 

“Oh, no, no!” she answered hastily. “He 
doesn’t understand that our money is all gone, 
and it might trouble him, Teddy. He is in a sort 
of dream yet. When he rouses and knows what 
a dear, brave boy you have been, he will be so 
glad and proud of you! And I had another 
pleasant surprise to-day — a letter from Father 
Bolton. He enclosed a check for fifty dollars, 


“THE BEAN STALK” 


55 


which he says your father had left in his hands 
for various expenses, and which he returns to me 
with such kind, cordial words of sympathy/’ 

“Je-ru-sa-lem! we are in luck to-day!” cried 
Ted. “I had only one dollar and a half left, 
mother, excepting that ticket money of mine, that 
I’ve been keeping for the gentleman that paid 
my way home. It has come back from the post-of- 
fice twice. No one knows where Dunmore is.” 

“I do,” said little Nell, looking up from her 
geography lesson. “It’s in Scotland.” 

“Smarty !” laughed Ted, pulling her fair curls. 
“You’re learning too much, Nell. Your head 
won’t hold it all.” 

“Yes, I’m studying hard,” said little Nell, 
gravely. “Sister Angela says girls must study 
hard when their fathers are sick and haven’t any 
money ; then, when they grow up, they will know 
how to do lots of things — teach school and give 
music lessons and write books. I mean to write 
books,” added Nell decisively. 

“Oh, you do?” said Ted, sitting down beside 
his pet sister, and twirling the would-be authoress 
up on his knee. “What kind of books, Nellikins, 
fact or fiction?” 

“Neither,” replied Nell. “Just books with 


56 


“THE BEAN STALK” 


green and gold covers, and plenty of pictures and 
not much reading. Then I will sell them at the 
stores and have money to make caramels. We 
haven’t had any caramels since Christmas, and 
Kit makes them so good.” 

“Then you’ll have some to-night,” said Ted, 
cheerily. “You’ve got a brother in business now, 
Nellikins, and he will pan out for the stuff. The 
kids have had a tough time of it, mother. Let’s 
sweeten things up for them with a candy stew.” 

And, much to Aunt Fan’s horror, there was a 
celebration that night. Delicious, sugary odors 
stole through the house, and ripples of merry 
laughter came from the kitchen. There a big pot 
boiled and bubbled upon the range; and Kit, tied 
up to her neck in one of Margaret’s aprons, and 
armed with a huge wooden spoon, stirred and 
stewed; while Nell buttered the waiting pans; 
and Ted and little Rick, perched upon the ironing 
table, looked on in delighted expectation. 

“It’s a murdherin’ waste,” grumbled Margaret, 
who had nursed Ted in his babyhood, and who 
was “holdin’ things together for the craythurs” 
in the kitchen by ways known only to the good 
angels who watch such humble deeds of love. “A 
murdherin’ waste of good sugar, and I’ll have my 


“THE BEAN STALK ” 


57 


pots and pans left in a fine mess. But it’s a black, 
bitter time the craythurs have had for the last 
six weeks. There, Miss Kitty darlint, let me sthir 
awhile, afore your face is burnt to a crisp intirely.” 

“Yes, stand back, Kit, and cool off, or you'd 
bubble up yourself," said Ted. “This is sort of 
hot fun, anyhow. I’d rather have the Jack Frost 
dumplings we used to make at St. Elmer's." 

“Flow do you make Jack Frost dumplings, 
Ted?" asked little Rick. 

“Dump a snowball into your plate of molasses. 
It's fine, I tell you! Sometimes a lot of us used 
to chip in and make it lemons and sugar, but the 
molasses was just as good." 

“O Margaret, let us have Jack Frost dumplings 
for dinner to-morrow!" pleaded little Nell, 
eagerly. 

“Faith, and I'm thinkin' you'd find them impty 
‘atin'," laughed Margaret. “They'd be like Kil- 
kannegan's broth." 

“And what is Kilkannegan's broth, Mammy 
Meg?" inquired Ted, giving the good cook her 
old nursery name. 

“Sure haven't I ever told ye, thin? But maybe 
I haven't, for it's a long, throubled story, that 
when ye were babies ye couldn't understand." 


58 


“THE BEAN STALK” 


“A true story ?” asked Ted, with interest. 

“I’m not swearin’ to that,” replied Margaret, 
cautiously. “It was my grandmother that told it 
to me whin she was more than eighty years, and 
she has been dead forty years this last Michael- 
mas. And though she was a wise, holy woman in 
her day, what with her pipe and her dimmin’ 
eyes, ye couldn’t expect her to see everything that 
had happened in a stretch of eighty years clear 
intirely. So, though it mayn’t all be the blessed 
truth, there’s a dale of wisdom in the story.” 

“Oh, tell it to us please, please!” went the be- 
seeching chorus. 

“Wait a bit, thin, till I pour out this sugar stuff 
into the pans; for it is biled to the queen’s taste 
now,” said Margaret. 

And while the caramels cooled, the young cooks 
perched in various positions around Margaret’s 
big splint rocking-chair. With Kit on the wood- 
box, Ted on the ironing table, Nell on the carpet 
cushion that sometimes eased the good woman’s 
tired feet, little Rick in his baby place astride her 
knee, with the shining tins on the dresser wink- 
ing back the ruddy firelight, and the air full of 
spicy sweetness, the kitchen was a cheery place 
as Margaret began her story. 


CHAPTER VI 


kilkannegan's broth 

“tt was me grandmother, as I said, that told 
JL me the story,” prefaced Margaret ; “and it all 
happened whin she was a girl, which was — but 
sure I never was good at figurin' ” 

“One hundred years ago, at least,” interrupted 
Ted, with a mathematician's confidence. 

“And that's a long time,” continued Margaret, 
“a long time, me darlints.” 

“You bet it is!” said Ted. “Why, a hundred 
years ago the American Eagle hadn't learned to 
flap his wings ; couldn't do anything but fight for 
his own nest. But now, geewhillikins, folks had 
better look out for him. He can skim and swoop 
over sky and land and sea, I tell you,” observed 
our young Captain with patriotic pride. 

“Oh, hush, Ted! Let Margaret go on,” said 
Kit impatiently. 

“I was but a bit of a colleen, like Nellie here, 
whin me grandmother was bendin' and tremblin' 
with all her weight of years ; but I can see her now 
sittin' in the old cabin before the chimney, where 
59 


6o 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


the peat fire was burnin', with her beads in her 
hands, and her blackthorn stick ready to crack us 
whin we didn't mind what she said ; a big white 
cap ruffled around her face, that was all puckers 
and wrinkles but for the eyes, that had the old 
fire and light in thim still. She was the wonder- 
ful old woman, and many were the quare tales she 
told of all she had heard and seen, but the ‘Kil- 
kannegan Broth' was the quarest and strangest 
of all. 

“It was whin she was only a girl herself that 
the black clouds of throuble hung heavy over poor 
Ireland. Master Teddy has learned all about it in 
his books, I know: how the Sassenach had his 
foot on her neck, and the devil his will and his 
way, and never cross or Mass or holy priest dared 
be seen from shore to shore.” 

“That's right!'' said Teddy, with a nod. “Mr. 
McMann told us all about the 'Penal Laws,' as 
he called them. The Catholics couldn't have 
houses or lands or schools, or get married or 
buried, or anything. And the priests had to hide 
in holes and caves.” 

“Ah, they did, they did!” resumed Margaret. 
“Sure, wasn't there a place behind me own fa- 
ther's house, deep down in the ground, with a 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


61 


rock for an altar, that was called the Soggarth’s 
Hole? Ah! thim were black days, as me poor 
grandmother used to say; and she was in the 
darkest and the thickest of it. For she was only a 
bit of a girl whin the blight struck the praties, and 
they blackened and withered in the fields for miles 
around Ballycreagh ; and there was food for 
naither man nor baste. And soon the male bags 
were impty, and the milch cows wint dry, and the 
pigs sickened and died afore they could be kilt 
naturally; and sorra a grain was left for even a 
starvin’ hen to scratch. 

“There was only the soup-house, where the 
hungerin’ craythurs might go to save their bodies 
and sell their souls. For though the big pots 
were there, simmerin’ and smokin’ with cabbages 
and onions and praties, until the smell filled the 
air like the breath of roses in June, sorra a drop 
or sup could ye taste until ye gave up holy Faith 
and holy Church, and promised yer childher 
should be at the meetin’-house to be made into 
black heretics.” 

“And did they do it?” asked Kit breathlessly. 

“Sell their souls to the ‘soupers,’ is it? Not 
they!” answered Margaret in triumphant scorn. 
“Never man or woman or child in Ballycreagh 


62 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


could be bought by that devil’s stew, save only the 
one I’m tellin’ ye about, and that was me grand- 
mother’s born cousin, Tim Kilkannegan. Tim 
was a wild gossoon, with the nimblest leg at a 
dance and the quickest fist at a fight and the sweet- 
est voice with a girl in all the county. But the 
starvin’ wint hard with him; for, though he 
minded his soul on Easter Day, he took the world 
fair and aisy the rest of times, too fair and aisy 
for the good parish priest, who had many a crack 
at him for his rollickin’ and blatherskitin’. 

“ 'The devil will have ye yet, Tim Kilkanne- 
gan, ’ ” he would say in warnin’. 

“ 'And it’s a poor bargain he’ll find me, Fa- 
ther,’ ” Tim would answer humbly enough; for, 
wild as he was, he knew his duty to the clergy. 

"But, as me grandmother said, the starvin’ wint 
hard with Tim; for he had been used to his fill of 
praties and buttermilk and stirabout the year 
round, with often a bit of bacon and greens of 
Sundays and holydays. But now the pig was 
dead, and the cow was dry, and the praties all 
rotten in the black ground, and the stirabout was 
little more than boiled water. And, though Tim 
drew in his waistband and tried to whistle the 
hunger away, the smell of the soup-house came to 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


63 


him in his dreams and his prayers, and he couldn't 
get rid of it. 'Sure, it’s as Father Malone says/ 
he muttered to himself one evenin', as he came 
home with the legs tremblin' under him and his 
head swimmin' with weakness. 'The grace of 
Heaven isn't in me like the rest of thim, and I'll 
have to give in. I'm off to the soupers this 
evenin'.' " 

"Oh, but he was so very hungry he couldn't 
help it, could he, Margaret?" said little Nell sym- 
pathetically. 

"Yes, he could," declared Captain Ted. "He 
wasn't clear grit, that's all. But go on, please, 
Mammy Meg!" 

"Well, with that word," continued the narrator, 
"he picked up his stick to steady himself and 
started off to the soup-house. And because of its 
closin’ at sundown — and it was a good three miles 
by the road — he took the short cut through the 
bog. And the bog of Ballycreagh, as even the 
childher knew, was no place for a Christian man 
or woman after sundown. For it was one of the 
places given up to the fairies whin they were druv 
from the forests and fields; and whin they are 
about their business, they don't want to be 
throubled with meddlers. And, as bad luck would 


6 4 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


have it, poor Tim's head being a bit light and his 
body weak on account of the fastin’, he lost his 
road and stuck in the bog. And there he was 
whin the sun wint down, and the fairies’ day 
began, as it does whin the day ends for us, that 
have bodies to rest and souls to save in the dark- 
ness.” 

“But — but, you know,” interrupted Nell, a be- 
wildered little pucker between her bright eyes, 
“there are no fairies really and truly. Sister An- 
gela told us so, Margaret.” 

“I’m not sayin’ there is,” returned Margaret, 
a trifle sharply. “I’m only tellin’ ye the tale as me 
grandmother told it to me; and ye must mind, 
childher, there’s a dale of differ atween the old 
country and Ameriky; and, though this is the 
fine, elegant place for work and pay, there’s no 
need for a craythur that can live on a drop of dew 
or a sup of honey from a clover top to cross the 
sea. So there’s never a fairy in Ameriky, as we 
all know.” 

“But Tim met them on the bog, didn’t he?” 
asked little Rick eagerly. 

“He did,” answered Margaret, “or me grand- 
mother told me he did. He was stumblin’ on as 
well as he could through mire and pool, with the 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


65 


sun far down behind the hills, and the darkness 
failin' fast around him, whin, right in his way, 
he saw a little man in green. He was ridin’ a 
grasshopper, and he had a bit of candle in his cap 
no bigger than the spark that flies up the chimney 
whin ye stir the fire of a winter night ; and he held 
the thorn of a thistle bush for a sword. 

“ 'Who are ye, mortal, and what are ye doin’ 
here?’ he axed in a voice that was like the voice 
of an unfledged bird ; and, though Tim could have 
blown the craythur away with one whiff of his 
breath, he was took all of a-tremble as if the 
giant Knockomarra himself was afore him. 

'' 'My name is Kilkannegan, yer honor,’ he 
stammered, 'and I was crossin’ the bog on a bit 
of business and lost me way.’ 

" 'Can ye give the password ?’ axed the little 
man. 

" 'Sure — sure I can’t, sir,’ answered Kilkanne- 
gan, feelin’ every drop of his blood run cold. 

" 'Thin ye’re my prisoner, Kilkannegan,’ said 
the little sojer, drawin’ his sword. 

" 'Murdher ! murdher !’ cried Kilkannegan, 
drawin’ back a step or two lest he should tread on 
the craythur. 'Be aisy with me, yer honor, and let 
me go. I mane no harm to you or yours.’ 


66 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


“ ‘Ye are on fairy ground/ the little man wint 
on ; ‘and thim that steps on fairy ground after the 
set of sun is prisoners to our King. Ye'll have to 
come with me.’ 

“Though Kilkannegan could have crushed 
horse and rider with a slap of his hand, he found 
himself followin' the little sojer as if he were 
pulled by iron chains. They wint on and on, the 
little man's spark of light dancin' afore Kilkanne- 
gan in the darkness, as he stumbled through mud 
and water and thicket and furze, until they 
reached the middle of the bog, where there had 
always been a wide black pool that in the hottest 
day of summer was never known to run dry. 

“Sorra a drop of water at all was in it now;, 
but in its place was a hollow, soft and green as 
velvet, with rows of the fairy stools we call mush- 
rooms all around it, and the glimmer of thou- 
sands of little lights, and the flutter of little 
wings, and the pipin' of little voices ; while in the 
midst of thim all, on a throne made of a water 
lily, and wearin' a crown that shone like a star, 
was the Fairy King himself. As Kilkannegan 
came forward, there rose a sound like the buzz of 
a millon bees, and the fairies flocked around the 
King until the flash of the lights and the shimmer 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 67 

of the silver wings nearly struck poor Tim 
blind. 

“ 'Stand where ye are!’ said his guard, wavin’ 
his sword. ‘If ye step foot on the fairy ring, ye’ll 
be swallowed up fifty fathoms deep.’ And, with 
that warnin’, Kilkannegan stood still enough, as 
you can guess. 

“ ‘Who is it ye are bringin’ here ?’ axed the 
King as the little sojer rode forward into the hol- 
low. 

“ ‘A mortal that I found on fairy ground,’ an- 
swered the little man. 

“ ‘Had he no angel guard ?’ axed the King. 

“ ‘Never a one.’ And Kilkannegan’s heart wint 
down like lead in his breast; for the fairies had 
him, he knew. 

“ ‘Turn yer lights upon him,’ said the King, 
‘that I may see what he is like.’ 

“And, with that word, all the fairies riz like a 
cloud, and every light was flashed upon poor Tim, 
till he seemed facin’ the blaze of Judgment Day 
itself. 

“ ‘Sure I know him,’ said the King. ‘It’s that 
reprobate, Tim Kilkannegan.’ 

“ ‘It is, yer honor,’ said Tim, all of a-tremble. 

“ ‘What were ye crossin’ fairy ground for after 


68 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


the sun wint down?’ axed the King. There’s no 
use in lyin’, Kilkannegan. What brought ye 
across the Bog of Ballycreagh to-night?’ 

" 'Sure I was on me way to the soup-house, yer 
honor,’ answered Tim, feelin’ the truth must be 
told, or it would only be the worse for him. T 
can bear the starvin’ no longer, me head is that 
dizzy, and me legs are that weak ’ 

“ 'And so ye’re off to the soup-house, Kilkanne- 
gan, to sell yer soul?’ wint on the King. 'Look 
here, me fairies! Here’s a mortal man that will 
sell his soul for a pot of soup.’ 

"And the buzz of scorn that wint up from the 
little craythurs was enough to turn Tim deaf for 
the rest of his life. 

" '’Tis shame on ye they’re cryin’, Tim!’ wint 
on the King. 'Shame on ye, ye big, blind, blun- 
derin’ coward, ye! Shame on ye, Kilkannegan! 
There isn’t the smallest fairy here that wouldn’t 
give up the five hundred years of his life, with 
never a sorrow or a want or a heartbreak, with no 
work but to dance in the moonlight, or sip the 
honey and the dew — there’s never a fairy, I say, 
that wouldn’t give it all to airn the soul that ye’re 
sellin’ for a pot of soup. But souls are not for us,’ 
said the little King, and there was a sound like a 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


69 

sigh and a sob in his voice as he spoke. ‘If they 
were, we would save and not sell thim, Kilkanne- 
gan/ 

“And with that word the sorrow and shame 
seemed to cut into Kilkannegan's heart like a 
knife. 

“ Til go back, yer honor/ he said. ‘Let me 
off this time, and I’ll go back and starve it out, 
and never think of the soupers again. I swear it, 
yer honor/ 

“ ‘Go, thin/ said the King; ‘and mind that ye 
keep yer word. But I'll never have it said that 
the Fairy King turned away a starvin' man, so 
before he goes give him his fill of fairy 
broth.' 

“And with that the little craythurs flew off, and 
in another minute they were around him, each one 
with a bit of an acorn cup brimmin' with dew. 
And Kilkannegan supped and supped till he 
could sup no longer, and thin he was let to stag- 
ger off home as best he could. 

“And, though me grandmother said he was a 
changed man from that out, he never forgot the 
taste of that fairy broth, and was a bit quare ever 
afterward, wanderin' around after night, lookin' 
for acorn cups to catch the dew, and tremblin' at 


70 


KILKANNEGAN’S BROTH 


every grasshopper he saw. And the childher all 
around Ballycreagh heard the story; and whin- 
ever there was scant pickin’ at home, their mothers 
would tell thim to be off with their acorn cups and 
catch some Kilkannegan’s broth.” 

“But did all the poor people starve, Margaret ?” 
asked little Nell anxiously. 

“Sure, they didn’t, or me grandmother 
wouldn’t have been left to tell the tale. A ship- 
load of food came over from Ameriky, that 
helped things wonderfully; and the praties grew 
elegant the next year, and there was food in plenty 
again in Ballycreagh — and the caramels are 
cooled now,” said Margaret, with a laugh; “and 
me story is incled.” 


CHAPTER VII 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 

r I ced's business life began next day. Nine 
o'clock found him at the top of the Bean 
Stalk, rosy and bright from his long walk, for he 
disdained the luxury of a ride. 

Mr. Sharkey was at his desk, and welcomed 
him with an odd glance from his dark eyes. 

“You’re on time,” he said briefly. 

“Yes, sir; you can count on me for that al- 
ways. Mother will see to it. She is so pleased 
that I have a good place. She told me 
to thank you in her name for taking me 
at my own word; but she says if you want ref- 
erences ” 

“Not at all !” interrupted the gentleman hastily. 
“References are quite unnecessary. We take you 
on your own word, as you say. You can sit down 
there at the desk, and I will find you work to begin 
at once.” 

And Ted pulled off his overcoat and took his 
seat on the highly varnished stool before a very 
shiny desk that was screened from the main 


71 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


72 

room, and was ready to begin his commercial 
career. 

“We are — ahem! — money brokers,” Mr. Shar- 
key went on, and he pulled down several of the 
large new account books from the shelves. “I sup- 
pose you know what that means ?” 

“Not — not exactly, sir,” answered Ted, 
frankly; “but I can learn, I am sure.” 

“You can learn, no doubt,” observed Mr. 
Sharkey, with the unpleasant smile that made his 
face look darker than before. “In the meantime, 
for a beginning, just look over this Directory, 
and copy in your account book the names and ad- 
dresses of all the lawyers in the city, so we can 
send them our circulars. Be careful that you get 
them all, and remember there is no hurry. Take 
your time.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Ted, very much im- 
pressed with the importance of his firm. “I will 
be very careful, indeed.” 

And so, with all the pleasant appurtenances of 
brand-new account books, spotless blotting pad, 
shining pens, and silver-mounted inkstand, began 
Ted’s connection with Messrs. Trapp and Shar- 
key, and his hunt through the Directory for the 
legal lights of the city. It kept him very busy — 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


73 


too busy to notice that Mr. Trapp and Mr. Shar- 
key’s office was a very queer place indeed. The 
big account books on their desks were never 
opened, the new letterpress was never used, and 
there was seldom any mail delivered to the firm 
at the top of the Bean Stalk. 

Luckily, as Ted thought, when he found the 
lawyers becoming monotonous, he was sent on er- 
rands to distant parts of the city; and when he 
came back he would find the office door locked and 
strange men shut up inside with the firm, talking 
and smoking; and Mr. Trapp’s face was often 
red and his speech thick, though Mr. Sharkey was 
always quiet and dark and cool. Jim Lane did not 
appear at all during the week. He was away, his 
employers said, on “special business of great im- 
portance.” 

“Well, how do you like your job?” asked Mr. 
Sharkey as, when the week was up, he laid a crisp 
ten dollar note on Ted’s desk. 

“First-rate, sir,” answered Teddy brightly. “I 
am orily sorry I couldn’t get on faster with my 
work, but there are a lot of lawyers in town. I’ve 
got down only to the J’s.” 

“Oh, that’s all right!” said Mr. Sharkey. 
“You’re doing very well.” 


74 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


“Thank you, sir! I wasn't sure. I may tell 
mother, then, that you are satisfied?" 

Mr. Sharkey hesitated. 

“Oh, yes, yes !" he said. “Tell her you're doing 
all right." 

“And I'm ready for night work whenever you 
have it for me," continued Ted. “I told mother 
she mustn't be anxious if I was out late some- 
times, and she said she wouldn't. She knew I'd 
be quite safe here with you. So if you want me to 
stay and finish up my work " 

“No," said Mr. Sharkey in a harsh voice. “Not 
— not yet. We may have use for you later, but 
not — not yet. You can go home now." 

“Thank you, sir! Good-evening!" said Ted; 
and, as he started off blithely with his first earn- 
ings buttoned up tight in his overcoat pocket, Mr. 
Sharkey flung himself back in his chair, and, bit- 
ing off the end of his long, black cigar, began to 
smoke silently. 

“We've got him hooked fast," laughed Mr. 
Trapp, who was reading his paper on the other 
side of the desk. 

“I'm not so sure," was the brief reply. 

“What! — a softy like that? The Imp is watch- 
ing for him to take him out to-night. He will 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


75 


spend all his money and want more. That's the 
way it is done, Ned, my boy. We've been there 
ourselves and know." 

“Yes, we know," answered Mr. Sharkey, puff- 
ing his black cigar until the smoke clouded his 
dark face; “we know. But we hadn't a mother, 
Trapp. He has." 

Ted sprang away from the Bean Stalk this 
evening, feeling as if he were treading on air. 
Ten dollars in his pocket had been no novelty to 
him in the past ; but ten dollars made by his own 
work, ten dollars earned by six days' laborious 
hunt after lawyers, ten dollars to slip into little 
mother's hand to-night for groceries and coal — * 
ah, this was something new and strange and de- 
lightful indeed! 

He felt he must walk home; he was so full of 
spring and life and gladness, no car could hold 
him this evening. But he had not gone half a 
dozen squares when a hand clapped him on the 
shoulder. 

“Hello, Ted!" said a familiar voice. “Don't 
you know your old friends any more?" 

It was Jim, but not the flashy Jim of a week be- 
fore: swell overcoat and nobby hat and yellow 
gloves were gone. This Jim was buttoned up in 


;6 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


a coarse reefer, with a red muffler about his neck, 
and a worsted cap drawn over his ears. 

“Why, Jim old chap!” exclaimed Ted cor- 
dially. “When did you get back?” 

“Get back?” echoed Jim. “Why — oh, yes, of 
course! Just got back this evening. How are you 
getting on ?” 

“Fine,” answered Teddy jubilantly. “Just 
been paid off for the week.” 

“Ten plunks, eh? Well, I suppose that will do 
for a beginning, though it wouldn’t suit me. IVe 
got a pocketful to-night, too. Let’s see a little 
fun?” 

“Oh, I can’t!” said Ted decidedly. “I haven’t 
any money to fun with now, Jim. It’s all got to 
go home.” 

“I don’t want you to spend any money : I’ll do 
the whole business myself. I’m standing by you 
straight through, Ted.” 

“I know you are, old fellow!” answered Ted, 
warmly. “You’ve just been the best sort of a 
friend, Jim, and I’ll never forget it. But I can’t 
do any frolicking even on you. I’m not in for 
that sort of thing now. I’m the rattlepated kind, 
as old Brother Michael used to say ; and if I once 
got going I’d never know when to stop. No, sir ! 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


77 


I’ve got too much trouble on my hands now to 
start Teddy Thornton at his old monkeying,” con- 
cluded the speaker, with his great-grandfather’s 
look and nod. 

“Pooh!” said Jim lightly. “Don’t turn into a 
Miss Prissy, Ted. It can’t hurt you to take a bite 
at the restaurant here with me. They do up 
oysters in fine style. And we’ll take in the Hip- 
podrome afterward; there’s a dandy show there 
to-night.” 

“Can’t do it, Jim,” replied Captain Ted. 
“Haven’t the money to spend myself, and won’t 
sponge — never did, and never will. But I’ll tell 
you what, old fellow! You come home with me. 
There isn’t much fun going on in our house just 
now, it’s true; but we’ll have hot flapjacks and 
syrup that can’t be beat for supper; and we’ll go 
out skating in the Park afterward. The ice on the 
lake is fine, and I’ve got two pairs of London 
skates that go ahead of that winged-heeled Mer- 
cury we used to study about. They fairly fly.” 

Jim stared at the speaker silently for a moment. 
Home with Teddy Thornton! “Home.” It was a 
word that never had had a place in Jim’s vocabu- 
lary. His two years at St. Elmer’s had perhaps 
been the nearest to it that he had ever known ; but 


78 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


even at St. Elmer’s he had been a rebel, an out- 
law. Home! Jim never remembered having gone 
“home” in all his fourteen years of life. Crowded 
boarding-houses, flashy hotels, rooms where his 
father sat up all night playing cards, while his 
stepmother went to dances and theaters — all these 
Jim had known, but “home” never. He really felt 
a little curious to see what a home was like; be- 
sides, he had his orders about holding on to this 
new recruit of Trapp and Sharkey, and they must 
be obeyed. 

“Your mother won’t want me,” said Jim, 
doubtfully. 

“Oh, yes, she will!” answered Ted. “Mother is 
always glad to see anybody I bring home. And 
she knows all about you, Jim. I told her ” 

“You — -you did?” said Jim. 

“Yes — how good you had been to introduce 
me to your firm and get me the place,” continued 
Ted. “She said boys didn’t always stand by one 
another like that, and you must be the right kind 
of a friend. She’ll be glad to see you all right, you 
can bet. We will take the ‘L’ here,” said Ted hos- 
pitably, feeling that he could not expect Jim to 
walk off his superabundant spirits. “It will put 
us home in fifteen minutes.” 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


79 


And in that time they were indeed in a place 
that Jim felt was unknown land to him. Soft 
rugs, pretty curtains, and handsome furniture 
were no novelty; but there was in Teddy’s “home” 
an air that Jim had never breathed before. 

His usual assurance quite deserted him when 
he found himself in the quiet library, where Kit 
and Nell were studying their lessons by the shaded 
lamp, and little Rick and Bowser were stretched 
together on the hearth rug before the glowing fire, 
and a sweet little lady all in soft, silvery gray met 
him with smiling face and gentle words of wel- 
come. 

Only Bowser growled — 'growled so persistently 
and inhospitably that he had to be sent out of the 
room for his bad manners; while Jim, seated on 
the soft-cushioned divan beside Ted’s mother, 
longed to kick the snarling brute ; and wondered 
why he felt so hot and uncomfortable and choky 
when Ted drew out his ten dollars and told how 
fine Mr. Trapp and Mr. Sharkey were, and how 
pleased they seemed with him, and how they told 
him he would be able to double his money as soon 
as he learned the business. 

“And you will learn very soon I am sure,” said 
Mrs. Thornton fondly. “Father Barry was here 


8o 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


to-day. He brought two gentlemen who would 
like to rent our upper rooms, Ted. He was saying 
how fortunate you were to get so good a place." 

“And Jim did it all,” said Ted, clapping his 
schoolmate's shoulder. “It takes the old St. El- 
mer boys to stand by one another, doesn't it, Jim? 
And he was afraid to come home with me to-night. 
Said maybe you wouldn't want him, mother," 
laughed Ted, as if that were indeed a joke. 

“Not want you, my dear boy ! Not want such a 
friend of Ted's!" And Mrs. Thornton turned on 
Jim a reproachful glance, that made him look any- 
where but into those gentle eyes. 

Then Ted had to run upstairs to see dad, who, 
propped up now in a big cushioned chair, still 
lived in a strange dream-world that no trouble or 
worry seemed to reach. 

Ted sat down beside him, and lifted the dear, 
helpless hands to his lips, and told him he had a 
fine place downtown, and everything was O.K. 
And dad, whose brain had been so quick and eyes 
so keen, and hand so strong to protect his boy, 
asked no further questions. 

“That's right," he said dully; “all right, Ted, 
good boy! Stand by your mother, Ted." 

Ah! there seemed no one to watch, no one to 


BEGINNING BUSINESS 


81 


warn Ted of the paths of peril into which he was 
so innocently venturing; no one to tell him that 
the Bean Stalk was a far more dangerous climb- 
ing place than that which grew in Jack’s garden 
of old; no one to whisper that Trapp and Sharkey 
were a new kind of giants that lured boys by 
golden snares to sin and ruin, without giving the 
old-fashioned giants’ honest warning : 

I’ll grind your bones to make my bread. 

For there are modern giants much worse than 
the clumsy, old-fashioned, three-headed fellows 
who roared and blundered after boys that they 
never caught. The modern giants never roar and 
never blunder, and they are pretty sure to catch. 


CHAPTER VIII 
teddy's "friends" 

' 1 "'hat "evening at home" was an altogether 
-*• new experience to Teddy’s guest. Jim’s fa- 
ther, a careless sporting man, had, on his second 
marriage, put his boy at St. Elmer’s to get him out 
of "Nettie’s" way; and his enforced return to the 
family circle had not been conducive to its happi- 
ness or peace. Mr. Lane’s second choice was a 
vain, silly woman who cared for nothing but dress 
and amusement ; and the only conversation, when 
she and her stepson met, was, to use Madam Net- 
tie’s own expression, "sassing." 

Ted’s home and Ted’s family — the gentle little 
girls, the affection, the courtesy, the happy free- 
dom of their intercourse — were revelations of a 
world that seemed as far away as the planet Mars 
from the life Jim had known. 

True, the supper was not much, as he thought 
rather contemptuously. But the table was set with 
snowy linen and delicate china ; the round of cold 
corned beef was wreathed with parsley, the butter 
molded in pretty balls, and the bread cut wafer 
82 


TEDDY'S “FRIENDS” 


83 


thin ; while Margaret, who brought in the smok- 
ing flapjacks, was as spotless in cap and apron as 
if she had just stepped out of the advertising page 
of somebody’s “soups.” And Ted told of his day’s 
doings, and Kit related her pleasant experience of 
lunch with Marjorie Lee, and Nell had won the 
red apple that was Sister Angela’s daily prize to 
her best scholar ; while little Rick, perched on his 
high chair at Ted’s side, managed to sandwich in 
an exciting account of the big butcher’s dog that 
tried to fight Bowser and got the worst of it, “you 
bet!” 

“And Jim says nothing of what he has been do- 
ing all day,” observed Mrs. Thornton, smiling on 
the guest, whom she had placed at her right hand. 
“I am sure he has been the busiest of you all.” 

Ah, Jim had been so, indeed, but in ways that 
it would have startled this innocent group to 
hear! 

“You can bet he has!” said Ted heartily. 
“Take another flapjack while they’re hot, Jim; 
and pass around the syrup, Mammy Meg. I have 
a regular Kilkannegan appetite to-night. When 
I can hustle around and make money like Jim, it 
will be time for me to talk. And he isn’t mean 
about it, either. He wanted to treat me to every- 


8 4 


TEDDY’S “FRIENDS” 


thing going this evening, mother; but I brought 
him here instead/’ 

And then Mrs. Thornton’s soft eyes beamed 
again on Jim, her “boy’s friend,” until the flap- 
jack nearly choked him, and the syrup turned to 
bitterness in his mouth. He did not feel comfort- 
able until the pleasant good-bys were spoken, and, 
with the sweet mother-voice telling him to come 
again, he and Ted were out of the house in the 
clear, free night, their skates in their arms ready 
for a skim on the lake. 

It was bitter cold, and myriads of stars were 
twinkling in the dark blue vault of the sky. Jim 
was not given to fancying things, but it seemed to 
him to-night as if heaven were full of eyes, staring 
down on his heart and reading all its dark secrets. 
He felt that if he stayed with Ted five minutes 
more he must tell him all — all that those bright 
stars saw and knew. 

“My dear boy!” the sweet mother-words kept 
echoing in his ears. When had any one called him 
“my dear boy” before? He had been such a good 
friend to Ted, she had said. And the queer, chok- 
ing feeling came over Jim as he remembered; and 
he grew fierce and angry with himself and with 
Ted, with his mother — with everything, with 


TEDDY’S “FRIENDS” 


85 

everybody, under those watching stars. For the 
dull, deadened heart and conscience were stirring, 
and Jim did not like the queer new pain. He 
would clear off from Ted and — forget. 

“I can't go with you, Ted, to-night," he said 
suddenly, as they reached the corner. “I forgot it 
till this minute, but I've got an engagement for 
eight o'clock. I promised to meet some fellows at 
the show I was telling you about. If you won’t 
go, I must." 

‘That's too bad," said Ted in a disappointed 
tone. “I thought we'd have the whole evening to- 
gether. But if you can't, you can't, of course. 
Good-night, old fellow! Come again, as mother 
asked you. We'll all be glad to see you whenever 
you feel like dropping in." 

“Come again!" muttered Jim to himself after 
the friends parted. “Not much! You don't catch 
me at any such goody-goody gathering again. 
Your folks ain't my sort, Mr. Teddy Thornton. 
But, golly ! his mother was pretty and nice ! ‘Dear 
boy,' she called me. Pah ! It sort of made me sick. 
‘Dear boy !' I guess they'll find I'm pretty dear be- 
fore Master Ted is through with me," concluded 
this good “friend," with a grim chuckle. 

All unconscious of the effect his hospitality had 


86 


TEDDY’S “ FRIENDS ” 


produced, Ted went swinging on down the street, 
intending to stop for Phil Waters, who would be 
ready for a skate, he knew. Phil and Ted had been 
friends since they were in skirts together and 
pulled each other’s long curls in baby fights. But 
the tumble in stocks had not hurt Phil’s father, 
and the family had just returned from Palm 
Beach. Ted had been too busy to see much of his 
old chum of late. He now found him up in his 
own room, with the student’s lamp lit, and the 
table strewn with books; while Phil, with his 
curly head tragically buried in his hands, was 
struggling with the morrow’s lessons. 

“I can’t go out until Pm through, Ted. Pm up 
to my ears in conditions now. Father gave it to 
me hot and strong last night. Said he wouldn’t 
stand any more loafing — Pd have to study, or cut 
out to his Colorado ranch and make a man of my- 
self there. I’ve a mind to do it,” said Phil, throw- 
ing himself back in his chair, with a sudden 
sparkle in his eyes. “What’s the good of all this 
Greek and Latin, anyhow, Ted? Who wants to 
know about all these old fellows Paris and Priam, 
that have been dead a thousand years? I think 
I’d rather strike out for the prairies and punch 
cows.” 


TEDDY’S U FRIENDS” 


8 7 


“Oh, I wouldn’t — not if I were you, Phil,” said 
Ted eagerly. “I’d stick to my books. Any old 
tough can punch cows ; but you — you’ve got such 
a chance. That’s what Mr. McMann used to tell 
me when I got to fooling. He said college was 
like starting a fellow with steam up, when other 
boys have to cut their wood and make their fires. 
I suppose that’s what I’ll have to do now ; but, if 
I were you, and had the chance, I’d take it. Let’s 
see where you’re stuck. Maybe I can help you.” 

And, as two curly heads are better than one, 
Paris and Priam were soon settled for the mor- 
row ; and the boys started out for the Park, where 
the lake, starred with electric lights, invited merry 
crowds of skaters. 

But Ted’s hour of sport seemed doomed to- 
night. As the boys were hurrying on their way, 
a sound of piteous sobbing fell on their ears ; and, 
pausing to see whence it came, they spied a queer 
little wizened figure crouched in the angle of the 
brownstone steps they had just passed. The small 
head was bent hopelessly over a basket that rested 
on the twisted knees, and the little fellow’s 
crooked shoulders were shaking with sobs that he 
could not repress. 

“It’s — it’s Humpty!” exclaimed Ted, recogniz- 


88 


TEDDY’S “FRIENDS” 


ing the little hunchback boy who sold matches 
and shoestrings in the neighborhood. Humpty 
crying ! 

Both boys stared in amazed sympathy. 
Humpty crying ! Humpty, who, despite the twist 
in his back and the crook in his legs, hopped 
around as merry as a cricket, and who had a 
“scoop” in the match and shoestring line with all 
the tender householders on a wide and growing 
beat. 

“I ain't crying,” answered Humpty, swallow- 
ing his sobs, and brushing his eyes with two 
grimy fists as he looked up at the intruders upon 
his trouble. “I'm just choking mad.” 

“What's the matter?” asked Ted. 

“That's the matter!” blurted poor Humpty, un- 
closing the thin, claw-like little hand and showing 
the bank-note clutched there. “Two dollars!” he 
continued, swallowing another sob with the 
words. “Give all the change I had for it, and it 
ain’t no — no — good!” 

“Who says so?” asked his hearers breathlessly. 

“Man at the drug-store — all the men at the 
drug-store say I'll get locked up if I try to pass it. 
Dasn't go home and tell. Gran will wallop me 


sure. 


TEDDY’S “ FRIENDS ” 89 

“Who gave it to you?” asked Ted, feeling that 
this was tragedy indeed. 

“A boy,” answered Humpty, fiercely. “Gee! 
wouldn’t I like to catch him. He came along and 
bought a whole dozen matches. Hadn’t any 
change and give me this. Man at the drug-store 
said there’s lots of the 'queer’ shoved just that 
way.” 

“What — what’s 'queer’?” asked Ted curiously. 

“Don’t you know?” laughed Phil. “It’s bad 
money — counterfeit. Father says there are some 
scoundrels flooding the town with it just now. 
He got stuck on a V himself yesterday in market. 
He always likes to pick out his own turkey, and 
took it from a country boy. That’s the rascals’ 
trick: they send out boys and women to shove 
their stuff on people that don’t know.” 

“George! that’s mean, snaky sort of work!” 
said Ted indignantly. “I’d like to spot the chap 
that did Humpty here.” 

“You — you can’t,” said Humpty wofully. 
“The man at the drug-store says you can’t catch 
them. They change their clothes, and there’s new 
ones all the time, and they never strike the same 
place twice. But they ortn’t to strike a match-boy 
like me, that has a crooked back and a gran what 


9 ° 


TEDDY’S “FRIENDS” 


wallops him. They ortn’t to put off a whole two 
dollars on me.” 

Ted dived into his pockets, from force of habit. 
There were only his car tickets for the next day. 
Phil dived into his, and brought out a dime, the 
last of his week’s allowance. 

Humpty rose shivering, a pitiful little crooked 
figure, to meet gran’s wrath. 

“Let’s go home with you, Humpty. Maybe we 
can stave off things,” said Ted. “We’ll tell the 
old woman she mustn’t touch you ; that Phil’s fa- 
ther here, who is a lawyer, was fooled too.” 

“Will you?” said Humpty eagerly. “Come 
along, then. ’Tain’t far. Gran’s taking care of 
Mrs. Martin’s house while they’re in Florida. We 
live in the basement. The rats come out at night 
sometimes, but there’s plenty of coal to burn, and 
it’s fine. But we don’t get no money except what 
I bring home, and gran will be pizen mad when 
she finds it all gone. Gee! it was tough! Two 
whole dollars !” 

“Never mind, Humpty, old boy! Brace up! 
You’ll make some more to-morrow. We all have 
to get our eyes opened, you know ; and you’ll never 
be caught again,” said Ted cheerily, as the boys 
hurried on their way, turning from the quiet resi- 


TEDDY’S “FRIENDS” 91 

dential streets into the avenue, where many of the 
stores were still open. 

Gay lights were flashing from cafes and restau- 
rants, and the busy world was still wagging on its 
way. Washington's Birthday was near, and the 
store windows were gay with flags and bunting; 
while in one of them was a realistic representa- 
tion of the small George, with his historic hatchet, 
standing beside a cherry tree that in this case was 
loaded with jewelled fruit, scarf-pins, rings, 
brooches set with monstrous diamonds; rubies, 
emeralds, that, under the blaze of the electric light, 
flashed and sparkled as if they were the real thing. 
A gentleman with a very hooked nose stood in the 
door, addressing the eager crowd that pressed 
around the glittering show: 

“Walk in, ladies and shentlemen — walk in! 
Here is the most magnificent jewels ever dis- 
played on the American continent. Bought from a 
great East Indian prince, ladies and shentlemen, 
who was obliged to sacrifice all the treasures 
gathered in his palace for one thousand years. 
Beautiful satin 'birthday badge' given to every 
customer. Step in, ladies and shentlemen, and 
choose for yourselves." 

The gentleman’s eloquence was not altogether 


92 


TEDDY’S “FRIENDS” 


unheeded, especially as the jewels of the East In- 
dian prince were retailing at fifty cents apiece. 

Our boys, too wise to be caught by any such 
tawdry bait, even if they had any money to spend, 
were pressing on through the crowd gathered in 
front of the store, when Ted felt his arm clutched 
with a trembling little hand. 

“There he is!” gasped Humpty, shaken with 
sudden excitement. “Catch him — oh, catch him, 
please ! There’s the boy that got my two dollars, 
coming out of the door !” 

And, making a mad dive through the crowd, 
Humpty caught desperately at a rough reefer, 
whose wearer had just emerged from the store 
and turned down the street. With a sudden rude 
shove, the boy flung the little match merchant 
from him; and poor Humpty and his basket fell 
under the feet of the crowd, while the other lad 
sprang away and vanished in the pushing throng. 
But not — not before Ted caught a sight of his 
face. It was his “good friend” and evening guest, 
Jim. 


CHAPTER IX 


HUMPTY 

J im ! — Jim in his rough reefer that he had pulled 
on in Ted’s hallway not an hour ago; in his 
red muffler, his close-drawn cap ! Jim ! 

Ted stood in speechless, open-mouthed amaze- 
ment for a second, and then the cry that went up 
around him drove all other thoughts from his 
dazed mind. 

“Stand back, stand back!” shouted a score of 
excited voices. “There’s a boy hurt here. You 
are crushing the little fellow. Stand back!” 

“It’s Humpty! Hurt!” cried Phil; and the two 
boys sprang forward as the crowd parted, show- 
ing a piteous little figure writhing on the sidewalk, 
one thin bird-claw of a hand still clutching his 
empty basket, the contents of which were scat- 
tered hopelessly under careless feet. 

“Oh! oh!” wailed Humpty, as Ted knelt down 
and lifted him, while Phil fiercely elbowed off the 
pushing crowd. “I’m hurt — I’m hurt so bad ! He 
knocked me down and people stepped on me!” 
“What’s the matter here?” said a big police- 
93 


94 


HUMPTY 


man, forcing his way to the spot. “ I told you, 
Goldstein, that I couldn’t have the street blocked 
up like this with your customers. You must make 
room inside or ” 

“Mr. Ryan, Mr. Ryan, this is not my affair at 
all,” said the hook-nosed gentleman excitedly. 
“These ladies and shentlemen will bear witness it 
was an accident. The boy is a cripple and slipped 
down.” 

“He didn’t!” said Phil Waters indignantly. 
“A big bully of a boy, twice his size, knocked him 
down in the push.” 

“It’s Humpty Blake, the little match-boy. Sure 
I know him — every one knows Humpty,” said 
Ryan, bending pitifully over the little figure sup- 
ported by Captain Ted’s sturdy arm. “Are ye 
hurt much, Humpty, man?” 

“Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Ryan, I’m hurt dreadful! 
Somebody stepped on me, and I’ve lost all my 
matches and shoestrings and money.” 

“Whisht! whisht! Never mind! We’ll make 
it up to you to-morrow, lad. I’ll take up a collec- 
tion at headquarters meself. There’s not a man 
in the force won’t put his hand in his pocket to set 
ye up in business after a fall like this. Aisy 
now, and let me lift ye out of this push.” 


HUMPTY 


95 


And tenderly lifting the pitiful little figure, Ry- 
an carried him out of the pressing crowd, Ted and 
Phil still keeping close to their unlucky protege. 

“It was about the meanest, scurviest trick I 
ever saw,” said Phil, still boiling with righteous 
indignation. “Humpty went for the scoundrel who 
had just put off a two-dollar counterfeit on him.” 

“Ah, he had?” said Ryan, flashing into new 
interest. “Faith and ye’ll be even with that young 
spalpeen soon, then, Humpty, if Pat Ryan can lay 
eyes on him. We’ve orders to bring in all we can 
find at that little game. There’s a lot of murder- 
ing young villains that are being trained for the 
penitentiary and gallows, and I’m thinking he’s 
one of them.” 

Penitentiary and gallows ! Ted heard the words 
like one in a dream. The bad money, the cruel 
shove, the quick, guilty flight! Oh, he had been 
mistaken! It could not have been Jim he saw in 
that bewildering moment, in the dazzling glare 
of Goldstein’s electric lights — not kind-hearted, 
generous Jim. 

“Stand down now,” said Ryan, gently putting 
Humpty from his arms as they reached a quiet 
corner. “Let’s see if ye’re not more frightened 
than hurt, my little man.” 


96 


HUMPTY 


But poor Humpty reeled helplessly, and would 
have fallen but for Ted’s quick support. 

“I — I can’t!” he said faintly. “It — it hurts too 
bad to stand, Mr. Ryan.” 

“Then it’s to the hospital ye ought to go,” was 
the decided reply. 

“No, no !” cried the little fellow in terror. “No, 
don’tsend me to the hospital. I won’t go. They’lltie 
me up to straighten my back. Don’t send me to the 
hospital, Mr. Ryan. I think I can walk all right.” 

“Off with ye, then!” said the big policeman, 
his decision quickened by a whistle from a neigh- 
boring cross-street. “Look out for him, boys. 
There’s some murdering work up at the corner 
and I’m wanted.” 

And the sturdy guardian of the law dashed off 
at a run, while little Humpty sank back on a step 
near by. 

“I can’t,” he faltered, “I feared he’d take me to 
the hospital. Oh, I can’t even stand ! But ’tain’t 
far to gran’s now. It’s jest around the corner. If 
you two could make a lady’s chair and carry me 
like the boys do sometimes, I’ll — I’ll pay you 
when — when I get to selling matches again ” 

“Never mind the pay, Humpty. We’ll take you 
home without that.” 


HUMPTY 


97 


And, linking their hands into a lady’s chair 
under the poor little match-boy’s puny form, Ted 
and Phil carried him gently to the house he 
pointed out, — a tall, stately mansion, closed and 
darkened save where in one lower window there 
glimmered a beacon light, showing that gran was 
on the watch for her small breadwinner’s return. 

And she was indeed. Ted felt that Humpty’s 
terror was not surprising when the basement door 
flew open, showing the hard-featured, angry old 
woman glaring on the threshold. 

“Get out of this, ye spalpeens !” she cried, mis- 
taking the lady’s chair and its bearers for an un- 
timely bit of fun. “Sure and it’s a nice hour of 
the night, Humpty Blake, for ye to be coming 
home monkey-shining like this ! I’ll show ye that 
I have a hold on ye yet.” 

“Oh, I’m hurt, gran — I’m hurt bad!” wailed 
poor Humpty. 

“Yes; don’t scold him, Mrs. Blake,” said Phil. 
“We had to bring him home like this because he 
can’t walk. He has been knocked down and 
hurt.” 

“Hurt, is it — hurt!” fairly screeched old gran. 
“Murder, murder ! — me boy, me poor little boy !” 

And, amid wild prayers and lamentations from 


98 


HUMPTY 


the excited old woman, Humpty was brought into 
the warm, tidy kitchen, and laid upon the little 
couch that served as his bed, while Ted and Phil 
tried to explain matters. 

“Knocked him down ! Knocked a poor crooked- 
back cripple down!” cried gran. “Ochone, 
ochone ! The curse of heaven will be on the villain 
that did it! Look — look at the bruises of him!” 
continued the old woman, as she took off Hump- 
ty's clothes. “Look at the murdering bruises! 
It’s kilt entirely he is, me poor boy !” 

And gran, who like many other sharp-tongued, 
quick-tempered old women, was now all hysterical 
grief and remorse, relapsed into woful cries and 
lamentations over poor little Humpty, who lay 
white and exhausted on his couch, moaning with 
pain. 

“IPs the death-stroke that's on him!” wailed 
gran. “He'll be gone before the morning light.” 

“Not a bit of it !” said Ted cheerily, as Humpty 
lifted his wide, frightened eyes. “Pooh! what’s a 
little tumble and kick like that! I've had worse 
knock-outs at a football game ; haven't you, 
Phil?” 

“Often,” answered Phil. “Red, black, and blue 
all over, and didn't know anything for two hours.” 


HUMPTY 


99 


“You ought to have had Burly Bill Briggs and 
three others on top of you, like I had last Thanks- 
giving game!” continued Ted. “I thought Td 
never get my breath again.” 

“Did — did they take you to a hospital?” asked 
Humpty faintly. 

“No; but I was pretty well used up, and they 
had a doctor,” answered Ted. “And you ought to 
have one too. Hadn't I better go for one, Mrs. 
Blake?” 

“Don't — don't leave me,” whispered Humpty, 
stretching out a trembling little hand to this cheer- 
ful friend. “Gran — gran skeers me — sometimes. 
Don't leave me yet!” 

So Phil, taking the hint, sped away for the 
nearest doctor; while Ted kept his place by 
Humpty's side, entertaining him with graphic ac- 
counts of the bloody noses and broken shins that 
had followed the conflicts of Pubs and Preps on 
St. Elmer's campus, and wisely ignoring the con- 
trast between the sturdy young knights of dia- 
mond and gridiron, and the frail, crippled boy 
gasping beside him now. 

Then Phil came back with the doctor, who 
looked Humpty over gently and carefully, gave 
him something to quiet his nerves and put him to 


IOO 


HUMPTY 


sleep, and said he would see him again in the 
morning. Altogether it was twelve o’clock before 
Ted’s unexpected duties were over, and he could 
hurry back home, where mama was sitting up 
in her pretty pink kimono watching for him. And 
he told her all poor little Humpty’s pitiful story, 
suppressing only the strange fancy — that was now 
fading away from his mind — that the boy at Gold- 
stein’s door was Jim. Jim, who had gone to the 
show an hour before, to meet his friends — Jim, 
whose rough reefer and red muffler might have a 
thousand duplicates ! It could not have been Jim. 

So entirely had the fancy vanished that when, 
three days later, Jim sauntered into the office, 
dressed again in his own flashy style, Ted told him 
the whole story of Humpty’s misfortune. Mr. 
Sharkey and Mr. Trapp were out; and, though 
Ted was still busy with his lawyers, the thought 
of the poor little match-boy would obtrude itself 
upon his work. Twice he had written down 
Humpty in mistake for Humphrey and Horace, 
the Christian names of two legal lights. For the 
doctor was looking very grave indeed over the 
little humpback’s case. There was some sort of 
internal injury,, how great he could not as yet say. 
Only Humpty’s wild pleas kept him out of the 


HUMPTY 


IOI 


hospital ; no one had the heart to send him there 
in the face of his frantic fears. But a visiting 
nurse came to see him every day. Mr. Waters 
and other rich gentlemen sent gran money, and 
everybody was very kind. Father Bryan had been 
to see him, too, and Sister Angela, and they talked 
of letting him make his First Communion, though 
he was only ten years old. 

To Ted's account of all this Jim listened with 
his hands thrust deep into his great-coat pocket, 
and a queer, frightened look on his freckled face 
that Ted was too absorbed in Humpty 's troubles 
to see. 

“Do — do you mean that the little beggar is go- 
ing to die ?" he asked at last. 

“The doctor can't tell. But Humpty isn't a 
beggar, Jim. He never begged a cent in his life. 
He has been taking care of himself ever since he 
was seven years old. Everybody likes him and is 
sorry for him. Judge Waters, Phil's father, says 
he'd give a hundred dollars to find the fellow that 
pushed Humpty down in that crowd. And Ryan, 
the policeman — my! but he's hot and fierce! He 
says if anything happens to Humpty, he'll have 
that boy hunted down and jailed, and worse, for 
it." 


102 


HUMPTY 


“Did — did the cop see him?” asked Jim breath- 
lessly. 

“No, but I did,” said Ted, with a nod. 

“You!” gasped Jim. 

“It was a fellow in a reefer and a muffler just 
like yours,” continued Ted. “Do you know, Jim, 
for a moment I was struck all of a heap! He 
looked so much like you.” 

“Me !” snarled Jim, suddenly showing his bull- 
dog teeth. “What’re you giving me, Ted Thorn- 
ton? What sort of a dirty trick is this you’re 
playing? What do you mean by telling lies like 
that ?” 

“Hold on there!” said Ted, starting up from 
his desk with blazing eyes. “I don’t take talk like 
that from any boy, Jim Lane. I said the boy 
looked like you, and he did; but it wasn’t you, I 
know.” 

“What did you say so for, then?” said Jim, his 
voice still shaking fiercely. “What did you go and 
start the cops with such a story for? That’s a 
nice way to serve me after — after all I have 
done for you, Ted Thornton: getting me into a 
row like this!” And here Jim’s outraged 
feelings quite overcame him, and he blubbered 
outright. 


HUMPTY 


103 


“O Jim, Jim, you don't understand!" said Ted, 
remorsefully. “I didn't go back on you. I didn't 
tell any cop. Just for one minute I thought it was 
you, and then I knew it couldn't be, Jim. You're 
not the sort of a fellow to do low, mean work like 
that. Besides, you were at the other end of town, 
at the show. Don't think of it any more, Jim. I 
didn't mean to hurt your feelings." 

“Hello! what's the matter here?" asked Mr. 
Sharkey, who had quietly entered the office. 
“Quarreling, eh ?" he said, casting one of his keen, 
piercing looks at the excited boys. 

“Oh, no, sir!" replied Ted earnestly. “Jim 
misunderstood. He thought I had gone back on 
him, had been getting him into trouble, but it's 
all a mistake." 

“I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Sharkey, with 
another keen look at Jim's face. “But look out for 
mistakes. They are dangerous always. Take this 
packet to 575 Blank Street, and wait for an an- 
swer, Thornton." 

And as Ted hurried away to do his bidding, 
Mr. Sharkey shut the office door with a pressure 
of the hidden spring and turned sharply on Jim. 

“Now, what's the trouble, you rascal? For 
there is trouble, I see." 


104 


HUMPTY 


And Jim's answer was a fierce oath that would 
have chilled gentle Mrs. Thornton’s blood. 

“It's that dunderhead,” he said in a hoarse, 
shaking voice. “You’ve got to shut up his mouth, 
Mr. Sharkey, or he’ll have the cops down on us 
all. For if they ketch me, I’ll blow, Mr. Sharkey 
—I tell you, I’ll blow.” 


CHAPTER X 
a traitor's trick 

IV J\ R. Sharkey's dark face turned an ashen 
1V1 g ra y anc j his e y es blazed, as he caught Jim's 
shoulder with a hand strong and cruel as steel. 

“Do you mean to threaten me, you young cub 
— to threaten me? Why, I’ll throw you out of 
the window if you give me another insolent 
word!" 

Jim cowered like a whipped hound at its mas- 
ter's grip and tone. 

“I didn't mean any harm, Mr. Sharkey. It's 
Ted Thornton that's going to run us all down. I 
put off one of your two dollar notes on a hump- 
back match-boy the other night, and the little beg- 
gar spied me afterward in the crowd round Gold- 
stein's store and made a grab at me. I gave him 
a shove and he fell down in the push and got 
hurt." 

“Well, what is all this to me?" asked Mr. Shar- 
key, with the queer hiss in his set teeth. 

“Maybe it ain't nothing to you, but it's a heap 
to me, Mr. Sharkey. The little beggar is going to 


105 


io6 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


die, and there’s a big row about it. Judge Waters 
says he will give one hundred dollars to find the 
boy that hurt him; and Ryan, the big cop, is 
swearing to hunt me down; and Ted Thornton 
is in with all of them. He saw me, Mr. Shar- 
key.” 

“There’s ten dollars,” said his employer, fling- 
ing a note upon the desk. “Take it and get out of 
town !” 

Jim took up the note and eyed it keenly. 

“Oh, you needn’t be afraid ! It’s the real thing,” 
said Sharkey, with a harsh laugh. “Good as 
gold.” 

“Yes, but it ain’t — it ain’t enough,” said Jim. 

“Why, you young horse-leech! I’ve already 
paid you ten times more than you were ever worth 
to me.” 

“And you want to get rid of me now?” said 
Jim sullenly. 

“To be plain with you, my young friend, I do . 
After this last piece of work, Trapp and Sharkey 
prefer your room to your company.” 

“You forget, Mr. Sharkey” (Jim’s voice shook 
with mingled fury and fear), “I kin blow — blow 
your whole business.” 

“And blow yourself into jail, or maybe worse* 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


loy 


with it,” was the mocking reply. “You'd better 
give the police wide berth, Lane. Killing cripples 
is a good deal worse than any business you’ve done 
for me. They have offered one hundred dollars to 
find you, you say. That looks bad — pretty bad. 
You’d better make yourself scarce as quick as you 
can. That’s my advice to you.” 

And Mr. Sharkey took his seat at his big desk 
and pulled out his account book, as if he had no 
further interest in the subject. 

“You know ten dollars ain’t much, Mr. Shar- 
key,” said Jim. “It won’t be nothing if I’ve got 
to leave home.” 

“It’s all you will get here,” was the unmoved 
reply. 

“’Tain’t enough,” whimpered Jim; “you know 
’tain’t enough, Mr. Sharkey. I can’t get a place 
or work or a job anywhere now. They’ll want a 
recommendation — they’ll want to know who I am 
and where I came from.” 

“Are you going to get out?” asked Sharkey, 
starting up from his chair. 

“You daren’t a-done this yesterday,” blurted 
out Jim desperately. “You’d been afraid. You 
daren’t a kicked me out like a mangy dog yester- 
day, Mr. Sharkey.” 


108 A TRAITOR’S TRICK 

“No, but I dare to do it to-day because you’re 
muzzled, you young cur! You daren’t either bark 
or bite,” said Sharkey, his dark eyes blazing 
wrathfully. “Take your money and go before I 
kick you out.” 

“Oh, I’ll be even with you — I’ll be even with 
you all !” muttered Jim to himself, as, cowed and 
frightened and furious, he slouched away through 
back streets, feeling for the first time in his wicked 
young life the desperate rage of a hunted creature. 
There was no home to which he could turn, no 
hole in which he could hide. 

Like all of his kind, Jim was a very great cow- 
ard at heart. Mr. Sharkey had frightened, had 
mastered him thoroughly ; his weak head was in a 
daze of terror, his evil heart in a blaze of fury. 
All that was most fierce and wicked in him had 
been wakened into life. He had been kicked out, 
as he said, like a dog that could neither bark nor 
bite; for to blow on Trapp and Sharkey — to be- 
tray their evil secrets — would betray himself. 
And Humpty was going to die, and Judge Waters 
and Policeman Ryan were looking for the boy 
that hurt him. 

Just as he reached this despairing resolve, he 
caught sight of Ted, bright, rosy and happy, com- 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 109 

ing briskly down the street — Ted whom, in a fierce 
flash of unreasoning fury, he seemed to see as the 
cause of all his woes. Ah, if he could be even with 
Ted, he thought vengefully! If he could only 
catch him in just such a snap as this! If he could 
bring Ted to ruin and disgrace, too! 

“Hello !” he cried; “put on the brakes a mo- 
ment, Ted, can't you? You're a regular lightning 
express." 

“I like to make time," said Ted. “I can't ever 
get through my work if I don't. Where are you 
off to, Jim? I thought I'd find you at the office 
when I got back. I want you to come home with 
me to-night, can't you?" 

“Can't come," said Jim curtly. “I'm going out 
of town, and" — Jim's evil mind began to work 
quickly — “I've just about time to make my train. 
Did — did you get the packets?" he asked, looking 
at the big bulge in Ted's pocket. 

“Yes," replied Ted; “got them here buttoned 
up tight. The man told me to be careful, for they 
were valuable. Well, but he's a queer duck! Had 
on false whiskers, I know ; for one end was loose," 
laughed Ted. “I've been sent to him four times 
now, and he’s always in a different place. He 
asked me how long I had been with Trapp and 


no 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


Sharkey, and if I had caught on to the business 
yet, and a lot of fool questions.” 

A blaze like a lightning flash seemed to illu- 
mine Jim’s evil mind as Ted spoke. The “snap” 
was here, at his very hand. 

“Oh, the fellow is all right, I guess! But I’ve 
got to rush it, Ted. Mr. Sharkey asked me to 
bring him five dollars’ worth of stamps before I 
left, but I haven’t time. Would you mind to 
stop somewhere and buy them?” 

“Not a bit,” answered Ted, taking the note Jim 
held out to him. “Five dollars’ worth of stamps, 
you say? I’ll have to go to some big place for 
such a lot.” 

“Yes,” said Jim quickly, “some big place — 
Varnum’s or Baker’s. Only hurry; Mr. Sharkey 
is waiting, and I must move. Good-by !” 

“Good-by and good luck, old boy!” called out 
Ted, delighted to find that the little unpleasant- 
ness of the morning had seemingly blown over, 
and Jim was all right again. 

And as this good friend disappeared around the 
corner, our Captain, unconscious of any treachery, 
hurried on his way to Varnum’s, a huge office 
building, buzzing like a great hive with business. 
There were no drones in Varnum’s; every niche 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


in 


in its high-reaching walls was filled with human 
bees working for the honey men call gold. Law- 
yers, brokers, insurance offices, rose tier upon tier ; 
while in the great central hall telephones and tele- 
graph were flashing messages across land and 
seas ; tickers were marking the rise and fall of the 
far-off markets; the last half hour’s news from 
London and Paris stood out on huge bulletin 
boards. In short, all the wide, busy world seemed 
to find in Varnum’s eye and ear and voice. In 
the branch post-office three brisk clerks were busy 
sorting the mail, while a keen-eyed old gentleman 
sat at a grated window selling stamps and weigh- 
ing packages. 

“Five dollars’ worth of stamps, if you please, 
sir,” asked Ted politely, as he took his turn at the 
desk. 

“Two cent?” asked the old gentleman, taking 
the note and flashing an odd glance at it from his 
silver-rimmed spectacles. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Ted, “if you have 
enough.” 

“I don’t think I have,” said the gentleman, 
slowly turning his spectacled eyes on Ted’s face, 
“not to fill this bill of yours, young man; but 
there’s a gentleman here who can.” 


1 12 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


He pressed a button as he spoke; and Ted, 
waiting calmly for his stamps, felt a quick, firm 
touch on his arm. 

“Come along !” said a sandy-haired personage 
at his side. “No use in making any row; it will 
only be worse for you.” 

“Worse for me!” echoed Ted indignantly, try- 
ing to shake off the iron grip that held him fast. 
“What’s the matter with you ? I came here to buy 
stamps.” 

“Exactly,” said the gentleman, with a smile. 
“I know just what you came for, my young friend. 
And perhaps you know what I came for too.” He 
flung open his overcoat and showed an officer’s 
badge beneath. “You’ll have to come with me and 
give an account of yourself and that counterfeit 
you tried to pass just now.” 

“Counterfeit!” exclaimed Ted, staring in blank 
dismay at the speaker. “Was that counter- 
feit?” 

“Hush!” said the other, raising a warning fin- 
ger. “Don’t talk here. This way!” He pushed 
open a side door and led the bewildered boy into a 
small office room. “Now, you may be all right; 
for you don’t look like a rascal. But there is a 
gang of young sharpers doing this sort of business 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


ii3 

for big pay, and we’re on the lookout for them. 
Honest now — it will be best for you to own up. 
Are you working for the Easy Money men ?” 

“No, sir,” answered Ted indignantly. “I never 
heard of them before.” 

“Where did you get that counterfeit, then ?” 

“A boy gave it to me, sir,” replied Ted. “He 
works in the same office with me — Trapp and 
Sharkey’s; and they sent him out with five dol- 
lars to buy stampSt. He met me on the street and 
asked me to get them, because he was in a hurry 
to catch a train.” 

“That boy was a friend of yours, I suppose?” 

“Oh, yes, sir! We were at college together — 
St. Elmer’s. We were good friends.” 

“You’re either a very honest fool, my lad, or 
the best liar I’ve seen in a professional life of 
twenty years,” said the man dryly. “Come, now, 
confess! You’ve got a few more of those same 
V’s stowed away in your pockets.” 

“I haven’t, then!” said Ted, flushing with hon- 
est indignation. “Do you take me for such a 
mean scoundrel as that ?” 

“No use in flaring up,” said the officer. “Just 
turn out your pockets and let us see.” 

But Ted’s cheek and eye flamed indeed now. 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


114 

The blood of the old Captain who fought the Red 
Coats at Dorchester Heights was at a boil. 

Strong in his truth and innocence, Captain 
Ted, who had held his own hitherto in fair-fought 
fields, forgot that he had been working in un- 
known ways; forgot that it was the iron grip of 
the law that was upon his shoulder; forgot that 
he was only a helpless boy. He tore himself 
away from the officer's hold and stood against 
the wall of the room, at bay. 

“I won't!" he said hotly, every fiber of his 
young frame trembling with boyish wrath. “Keep 
your hands off me, I tell you, or I'll knock you 
down]" 

But, alas for this mad defiance! Captain Ted 
was suddenly caught in a practised grip that no 
football skill could meet. 

“Showing your teeth at last, are you, my inno- 
cent?" said Officer Grimes, with a laugh. “Here, 
Toby! Toby!" he called; and a big black man ap- 
peared from an inner door. “Hold on to this 
young chap while I peel him and see what he is 
carrying." 

And, quivering with rage and mortification, our 
Captain found himself helpless in big Toby's 
brawny grasp, while Officer Grimes stripped him 


A TRAITOR’S TRICK 


US 

of overcoat, jacket and vest, and proceeded to 
search them thoroughly. His lunch sandwich, his 
jackknife, his car tickets, his beads (that he had 
promised Father Bolton always to carry), the let- 
ter to Mr. John Jarvis returned from the post 
office, little Bob’s fountain pen — all were tumbled 
ruthlessly on the floor; while Mr. Grimes seized 
Mr. Sharkey’s packets and tore them open, with a 
flashing eye and eager hand. 

“Eureka!” he cried. “By George, you nearly 
played your game to beat me, you young sharper ! 
One thousand dollars in counterfeit money in your 
pocket — one thousand dollars !” 


CHAPTER XI 


MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 

ne thousand dollars counterfeit in his pocket ! 

One thousand dollars, for which Mr. Shar- 
key had sent him ! Like the fiery flash that rends 
the black storm-cloud, revelation burst upon Cap- 
tain Ted. Sharkey and Trapp, the Bean Stalk, the 
queer man with the false whiskers, Jim at Gold- 
stein’s door — he saw them all in the flaming light. 
He had been the dupe, the tool, the victim of de- 
signing villains; had been caught in a cruel trap 
and left to bear the ignominy and shame. 

He stood quivering in every nerve under the 
shock, unable to speak a word in his own defence, 
as the grinning Toby held him firmly in his black 
grip, and Officer Grimes proceeded triumphantly 
with his investigation, while he kept up a running 
fire on the hapless prisoner. 

''One thousand dollars, packed in fives and twos 
and ones, ready for circulation where no ques- 
tions are likely to be asked ! And this is the young 
innocent who never heard of the Easy Money 
Men, who didn’t know a counterfeit when he 

116 


MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 1 17 


passed it, who got this last V from a college mate 
to buy stamps! Lord! Lord! — and looking into 
my face with eyes like a two-year-old baby, while 
he ripped out his lies faster than a horse marine ! 
You came nearer fooling me, young man, than 
any person that has tried his little game on Jack 
Grimes for twenty years. Ton my soul, if you 
hadn't shown fight so quick, I believe I'd have 
let you go." 

There was no answer. Pale and wide-eyed with 
horror, Captain Ted stood apparently in the silence 
of detected guilt. His mother — his dear, dainty, 
gentle mother — Kit, Nell, Aunt Fan, all the dear 
ones at home ! Oh, what would they think ? What 
would they say to this awful disgrace? And it 
would get in the papers perhaps; it would reach 
St. Elmer's, the boys, old Brother Michael, Fa- 
ther Bolton! Our poor young Captain's thought 
could go no further; his brain reeled before the 
yawning pit of darkness and despair. 

“One thousand dollars !" went on Officer 
Grimes, with grim professional satisfaction. “Let 
us see what other documents you are carrying 
around, young man." 

Presently the speaker pounced upon the letter 
directed to Mr. John Jarvis, Dunmore. 


1 18 MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 


“More notes, you rascal !" he said, pulling out 
the railroad fare, which Ted had been carrying 
untouched, despite all the financial pressure upon 
him in these troubled weeks. 

“Don't — don't touch that! That isn't mine," 
said the boy, forcing speech at last through his 
dry lips. 

“I dare swear it isn’t!" answered Mr. Grimes, 
as he coolly proceeded to read the letter that had 
enclosed the money. It was carefully penned, ac- 
cording to St. Elmer's best style, in a clear school- 
boy hand : 

“Mr. John Jarvis. 

Dear Sir : — I enclose the mopey you were kind 
enough to pay for my ticket to New York, and 
hope it will reach you in safety. This is the sec- 
ond letter I have sent to the address you gave me ; 
the first was returned to me. Please remember me 
to little Miss Dolly. I hope she is happy and well. 
I remain, with thanks, 

Very sincerely yours, 

Theodore B. Thornton, Jr. 
Mr. John Jarvis, 

Dunmore." 

Officer Grimes stared at this letter in new per- 
plexity. 

“Jarvis!" he repeated; “John Jarvis! That's 


MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 1 19 


a big name for you to be monkeying with, young 
man ! Railroad fare ! Miss Dolly ! There is some 
deviltry behind this, I haven’t a doubt !” 

“Miss Dolly is Colonel John Jarvis’ little girl, 
sah,” explained Toby. “I lived dar as butler 
Tore he got me dis place, and I knows. Dar is 
some sort of sarcomlocution bout dat letter, sure.” 

“He is in his office upstairs and we’ll find out,” 
said Mr. Grimes. 

“Don’t — don’t call him! I — I will tell you all 
about it!” cried Ted, in an agony of shame at the 
thought of being seen in such a place, in such a 
plight. “He doesn’t know me. He wouldn’t un- 
derstand.” 

“Oh, he wouldn’t? Don’t flatter yourself that 
you’ve got all the wits in the world, youngster,” 
said Mr. Grimes, dryly. “As for your explana- 
tions, you may as well keep them to yourself, for 
they won’t go down. Here, Toby, I’ll look out 
for this young gentleman. Do you see these?” — 
and the officer drew a light pair of handcuffs from 
his pocket. “The first kick you make, on go these 
bracelets; so keep quiet. Now, Toby, step up- 
stairs, give my card to the Colonel, and tell him 
he is wanted on very special business down here.” 


120 MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 


Colonel John Jarvis, retired army officer, stock- 
broker, mine operator, bank president, and multi- 
millionaire, had a visitor this morning who was 
engrossing his time and attention to the serious 
detriment of daily business. Perched upon the 
big mahogany desk in the middle of his private 
office, and prattling through his long-distance 
telephone with “grandma,” about two hundred 
miles away, was a small young lady in fur 
and feathers who had come to town with 
“Jack” to-day to see the play “Beauty and the 
Beast,” and lunch, as such lucky fairies may 
even in midwinter, upon strawberries and 
cream. 

“Now, then, you’ve had your talk with grand- 
ma. Jump down, Dolly dear, and look at your 
picture paper,” said Jack, turning to a big stack 
of mail waiting him. “You said you’d be very 
quiet, you know.” 

“And I will — I will,” said that young lady as 
Jack jumped her to the floor. “I’ll take off my hat 
and coat and sit in this big window and look out, 
Jack. I’d rather look at people than pictures.” 
And with a deft touch Miss Dolly emerged from 
fur and feathers, a dainty little, golden-haired 
figure all in white. “Oh, isn’t there a lot of people 


MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 121 


in the world !” she murmured softly as she sank 
in the broad window-seat. “Do you suppose they 
all have houses to live in and clothes and shoes 
and — and dinners, Jack?” 

“Dolly dear, you promised to let me read my 
letters!” was the gentle protest. 

“And I will. Im going to be just as quiet as 
a mouse now, Jack.” 

And the little lady pressed her pretty, tip-tilted 
nose against the window-pane, and for about sixty 
seconds remained in silent contemplation of the 
busy scene without. Then — for Miss Dolly’s 
sweet little silver tongue could not remain still 
any longer — she began to comment softly to her- 
self on the passing show. 

“Oh, poor man ! He has only one leg and has 
to walk on crutches. What a pity! And there’s 
a lady with a fur coat just like Miss Burnham’s! 
And isn’t that a nice little girl in that red bonnet ? 
I don’t like red bonnets myself ; but she looks so 
pretty and warm ! And that big boy taking care of 
her is her brother, I guess. Oh, it must be nice 
to have a big boy brother ! I wish Jack would get 
one for me.” 

“What must Jack get for you, pet?” All his in- 
terest in the news from his Arizona gold mine 


122 MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 


could not deafen Jack to the wistful note in that 
silvery little voice. 

“I wish you would get me a big boy brother, 
Jack.” 

“A brother?” was the somewhat surprised re- 
ply. 

“A real nice one,” continued Miss Dolly, who 
was accustomed to find her slightest wish Jack's 
law. “A nice, straight, clean brother, with brown 
eyes and curly hair, like the boy that took me on 
his shoulder and carried me out of the crowd at 
the depot.” 

“And made his railroad fare out of me by it!” 
laughed her father, as he took up another letter. 
“I thought I would hear from that young fellow, 
he seemed such an honest, gentlemanly little chap ; 
but I suppose that would be expecting too much 
of the average boy.” 

“His name wasn't 'average,' Jack,” corrected 
Miss Dolly. “It was Teddy. It was such a 
nice, easy name I have always remembered it. 
I wish you could get me a big brother 
just like Teddy, Jack. Do they cost very 
much ?” 

“Well, yes, generally they do, my golden 
locks !” 


MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 123 


“More than gray ponies ?" asked Miss Dolly, 
anxiously. 

“Considerably more, and are usually ten times 
the trouble to manage. Wouldn't a nice girl sister 
be a better investment?" inquired Jack, with a 
twinkle in his eye. 

“Oh, no !” answered Miss Dolly, most de- 
cidedly, “no, indeed, Jack; I don't want a sister 
at all. She would wear my ribbons and pull my 
curls and take my dolls, and sit on your knee in 
the evening, and go to sleep in your arms like I 
do. Oh, I wouldn't have a sister for anything! 
Please don't ever buy one, Jack." 

“Well, I won't," laughed her father. “We'll 
compromise on the gray pony — a nice, gentle lit- 
tle fellow, with silver mane and tail, and a canter 
easy as a rocking-chair. What rides we shall take 
together over the hills of Dunmore !" 

“Oh, yes; that will be splendid, Jack! Only 
I'm sorry — sorry boys cost so much! I'd 
like " 

“Well, what is it?" asked the gentleman rather 
sharply as his secretary broke in upon this pleas- 
ant conversation. “I'm not half through this mail 
yet, Carter." 

“It isn't that, sir," answered Carter. “I'm sorry 


124 MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 

to interrupt you ; but Toby is out here with a card 
from Officer Grimes. It seems there's some 
trouble downstairs and he asks that you will come 
down." 

“I come down!" echoed the gentleman. “What 
in thunder have I to do with Grimes or his 
troubles? Send Toby in here and let me under- 
stand what the fellow means." 

And Toby was admitted, bowing and grinning 
to his old master and young mistress delightedly. 

“Sorry to obtrude on you, Colonel ; but dis hyah 
trouble is very serious and sanctimonious, sah. 
Mr. Grimes has cocht a desput young debbil, his 
pockets all stuffed wif counterfeit dollars — thou- 
sands of 'em — and wif a letter dressed to you, sah, 
stuffed wif dem too." 

“A letter to me — to me?” exclaimed the Colo- 
nel, fiercely. “Where — from whom?" 

“Dat is whar de trepidation comes in, sah," 
answered Toby. “Mr. Grimes, he don't know 
what debbilment it might mean. He'd like you to 
come down and dessicate de matter yo'self." 

“I most certainly will," replied the gentleman, 
rising excitedly. “Dolly dear, I have to go down- 
stairs for a moment. Stay here quietly until I get 
back. Carter !" calling to his secretary through the 


' MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 125 


half-open door, “I leave little Miss Jarvis to your 
good offices until my return. A letter to me? The 
young scoundrel !” continued the Colonel as he 
hurried down the wide hall to the elevator. “I 
don’t know what it can mean.” 

“It's ’spicious, very, sah,” said Toby, shaking 
his head. “Dat young debbil he fought — fought 
Mr. Grimes like a wildcat, but he seemed mon- 
strous feered of you. He begged not to see you, 
sah. And dar was delusions to Miss Dolly in de 
letter, too, sah.” 

To Dolly — Dolly! Now indeed the Colonel’s 
cheek paled beneath the bronze. Like all strong, 
fearless, successful men, he had enemies, he knew 
— enemies who would not hesitate to strike at him 
in the dark. Grimes was a keen, wary officer who 
did not take alarm lightly. What secret had he 
wrested from this young rascal’s hold? Great 
Heaven ! if it was threat of peril to Dolly, the ap- 
ple of his eye, the core of his heart ! 

There was thunder on Colonel John Jarvis’ 
brow and lightning in his gaze as he entered the 
room into which Toby led, and found himself 
face to face with Grimes standing in watchful 
triumph over his prisoner. 

And then the irate Colonel paused, amazed, 


126 MISS DOLLY AND “JACK” INVOLVED 


bewildered, as his glance fell on Toby’s “desput 
young debbil.” Pale, wide-eyed, dishevelled, his 
clothes flung in a heap upon the floor, his white 
shirt sleeve split to the shoulder in his struggle, 
his brown curls falling in damp disorder about a 
fair, young, innocent, despairing face — who was 
it lifting those imploring eyes to Dolly’s father? 
Where had he seen this boy before? 


CHAPTER XII 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

“"V/ou must excuse the liberty I have taken in 
^ calling you down here, Colonel Jarvis ; but 
this is a matter that requires your personal atten- 
tion. This young rascal, whom I have just caught 
loaded with counterfeit bills, had a letter, enclos- 
ing six dollars, addressed to you.” 

The gentleman took the letter, stared at it 
blankly for a moment, and then light burst upon 
him. 

“Good Lord,” he blurted out to Ted, “I knew I 
had seen you somewhere before, my boy! You're 
Dolly's Teddy!” 

“Ye-es, sir,” faltered Ted; and then the tone, 
the name, the remembrance it brought, proved 
nearly too much for our Captain’s youthful man- 
hood. 

Dolly's father caught the pitiful tremor of the 
boyish lip. 

“What the thunder and lightning [and a great 
many other things, for the Colonel had fought on 
the plains and learned very vigorous speech] does 
127 


128 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


this mean, Grimes? Why the — [another old sol- 
dier’s outburst] are you holding up a boy like this? 
I know him. This letter is all right. And it 
proves him an honest, truthful little gentleman. 
It ought to have reached me long ago, returning 
some money I lent him ; but I gave him the wrong 
card — my residence, not my business address — 
and there’s no post-office at Dunmore. You’re all 
off the track, Grimes, this time sure.” 

“Perhaps so, Colonel,” said Mr. Grimes dryly. 
“Still it remains for you and the ‘honest little 
gentleman’ to explain what he was doing with 
$1000 in counterfeit bills in his pocket, and why 
he was ready to knock down an officer of the law.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know — I didn’t understand!” 
interposed Captain Ted, finding speech at last, 
under the kind, clear gaze of the Colonel’s eyes. 
“If you will hear— if you will believe me, sir!” — 
and again the boyish lip and tone quivered in a 
way that went to the Colonel’s big father-heart. 

“You can’t believe a word he says, I warn you, 
Colonel,” said Grimes. “He came very near fool- 
ing me.” 

“I’ll risk the ‘fooling,’ ” observed the Colonel, 
curtly. “Go on, my lad. What were you doing 
with that money in your pocket to-day ?” 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


129 


“I was fooled with it, sir,” continued Ted bit- 
terly; “I’ve been fooled straight through.” And 
then, feeling at last that he had the ear of justice, 
our Captain told his story with a simple, boyish 
directness that was convincing even to so profes- 
sional a critic as Officer Grimes. 

“How long have you been working for these 
scoundrels?” cross-questioned the Colonel. 

“Not quite two weeks, sir. And, you see, we 
needed money so much to buy groceries and coal 
and everything. And there was no one but me.” 

“I see,” said the Colonel; “yes, my boy, I see. 
And did you ever carry bad money for them be- 
fore ?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” answered Ted frankly. 
“I’ve been sent to the same man for packets like 
this several times, but I can’t say what was in 
them. He was queer — they all were queer. I see 
it now. The list of lawyers was no good to them. 
It was just a trick to keep me and fool me, and 
— and ruin me forever.” Again the young voice 
broke, and the old soldier’s heart went out to this 
defeated comrade in a burst of tenderness and 
sympathy. 

“Ruin you ? Not a bit of it — not a bit !” he said, 
clapping Ted heartily on the shoulder. “Of course 


13 ° 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


it’s none of my business to meddle with yours, 
Grimes/’ continued the Colonel; “but if you’ll 
leave this young gentleman to me I’ll be respon- 
sible for his appearance whenever and wherever 
you want him, while you turn your attention to 
Messrs. Sharkey and Trapp as rapidly as pos- 
sible.” 

“I will, sir — I will,” said Mr. Grimes, eagerly. 
“I’ll look into that rascally business right 
away.” 

But it was too late when Officer Grimes, armed 
with all his powers, reached the top of the Bean 
Stalk. Its wicked giants had disappeared. The 
locked office was burst open. Some big dummy 
account-books, Ted’s list of lawyers, a number of 
empty bottles and cigar boxes, and several worn 
packs of cards were found to be the only assets 
of the firm. 

Ted remembered afterward having caught a 
fleeting glimpse of Mr. Trapp’s red face and flash- 
ing scarf-pin as he entered Varnum’s on his fate- 
ful errand. Some wireless warning must have 
reached these sharpers, who were doubtless always 
ready for rapid transit; for, despite all Mr. 
Grimes’ professional efforts to discover them, 
Ted’s late employers seemed to have vanished 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


131 

into air. But the vigorous inquiry instituted at 
the Bean Stalk proved Messrs. Sharkey and Trapp 
to be a pair of rascals, who, under various names 
and by various methods, had- long defied the law. 
Their last enterprise had been most successful. 
None guessed that Trapp and Sharkey, in their 
shiny, newly painted office in the top of the Bean 
Stalk, were in reality the “Easy Money Men” who 
were flooding the town with counterfeit bills 
manufactured to their order, and sending out 
keen-witted young scamps to pass this money on 
the innocent and unsuspicious. But all this came 
out later. All our brave young Captain knew to- 
day was that a kind, strong, fatherly hand had 
lifted him from disgrace and defeat into honor 
and safety again. 

For Ted, once that he had found his wits and 
voice, could give “references” satisfactory even 
to Mr. Grimes — Judge Waters, Father Bolton, a 
score of the friends who were still sending jelly 
and flowers to “dad's” sick room, unconscious of 
the brave fight our fourteen-year-old Captain was 
making with an unknown world for his helpless 
family. 

Colonel Jarvis, used to the survey of battlefields, 
took in the situation with a practised eye, and felt 


I 3 2 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


that little Miss Dolly was, as usual, right: that 
Teddy was just the straight, clean, big boy brother 
that she wanted. 

“Get into your jacket, my lad, and brace up. 
You're all right, and Dolly is upstairs and will 
be glad to see you." 

And when Captain Ted, restored by the brisk 
military methods learned in St. Elmer's dormi- 
tory, to his trig, dapper self again, appeared at 
“Jack's" side, Miss Dolly could scarcely believe 
her own bright eyes. 

“It's — it's Teddy!" she cried breathlessly. “O 
Jack, where — where did you find him?" 

“Downstairs," laughed her father. “When 
does your mother expect you home, my boy?" 

“Oh, not until six o'clock, sir!" 

“I've got work for you, then," said the Colonel. 
“I have a stockholders' meeting this afternoon 
that I don't want to miss, and my day is pretty 
well broken up already. Can you play big 
brother to this young lady of mine this after- 
noon ?" 

“Oh, yes, yes! — won’t you, Teddy, please?" 
said Miss Dolly delightedly. 

“I will only be too glad, sir," said Ted, feeling, 
with a warm, grateful throb at his heart, that this 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


133 

was the greatest mark of confidence “Jack” could 
bestow upon him. 

“All right, then!” The Colonel drew out the 
railroad fare Ted’s letter had returned to him. 
“Pocket that again, and don’t spare it this time. 
Luncheon at Martini’s, Dolly ; and remember 
strawberries and cream don’t touch a big 
brother’s back tooth. He’ll want roast turkey and 
cranberry sauce and a regular Christmas dinner. 
And here are the box tickets for the matinee, 
Teddy. I don’t trust Dolly in the general crush. 
Take a cab afterward and bring her to the Gros- 
venor. You will find me there, and I’ll talk to you 
again at our leisure.” 

And then what a gala afternoon it was for Cap- 
tain Ted, after his morning of defeat and disgrace ! 
For “big boy brother” was no new role to Ted. 
He had been playing it well and lovingly all his 
young life. And Miss Dolly, who had been play- 
ing fairy princess all her life, understood that 
role, too. 

Such a luncheon as they had, in a beautiful room 
bowered with palms, a fountain sparkling in its 
great central court, and music playing in the upper 
gallery! Ted, who had kept his boyish appetite 
down of late in his new consciousness of butcher’s 


134 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


and baker’s bills, felt that never before, even after 
the Thanksgiving game at St. Elmer’s, had roast 
turkey and cranberry sauce tasted like this. The 
dessert, which his fairy hostess ordered, consisted 
of ices in the shape of roses and lilies, cakes 
crusted two inches deep with chocolate, strawber- 
ries, and cream. 

Then, armed with a box of French bonbons, 
which Miss Dolly assured him was a necessary 
part of the performance, they went to the matinee. 
And Ted, who in his best days had only crowded 
in with other boys in the push, found himself 
ushered into a crimson curtained box, where he 
and Dolly could sink into soft velvet-cushioned 
chairs and take their ease, though the house was 
packed from the roof to floor with less fortunate 
every-day mortals. 

Even our young Captain, who had given up the 
fairy drama several years ago, was held breathless 
with delight by the gorgeous spectacle of the 
palace and garden to which fair Beauty went in 
filial sacrifice. But when the Beast appeared, with 
a preliminary roar that made his juvenile au- 
dience quake, his glaring electric eyes and open 
mouth were really too much for Dolly, and she 
sprang from her cushioned chair and flew trem- 


a FRIEND IN NEED 


135 


bling to her big boy brother’s arms. But the Beast 
proved to be a most amiable one, as all students of 
the story know ; and when at the last grand trans- 
formation scene, in a blaze of colored light he 
emerged from his leathery hide, a young Prince 
in golden armor, one really felt a thrill of regret 
that he had gone. It seemed a pity that such 
a friendly monster could not be transferred 
in all his native ugliness to the Zoo, to be fed 
upon cookies and peanuts by little Beauties for- 
ever. 

Altogether, Ted passed such a delightful af- 
ternoon that the color came back to his cheeks and 
the light to his eye, and he almost recovered from 
the shock of the morning — almost but not en- 
tirely. The lightning flash of horror that had 
showed him the danger, the peril, the treachery 
into which he had so unconsciously ventured could 
never be forgotten. It had left a mark on his 
young soul which could not be erased. Our Cap- 
tain’s eyes had been opened. He could never be- 
lieve and trust so unquestioningly again. He had 
found there was no umpire on Life’s campus to 
watch for “fouls”; he must look out for him- 
self. 

“This young man won’t be trapped easily 


136 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


again,” thought Colonel Jarvis, as he caught the 
new expression on Ted’s face when they had 
their promised talk together that evening. “You’ll 
want to go to work again, my boy, of course?” 
said the Colonel. 

“Oh, yes, sir! — only I’ll be very careful this 
time, you may be sure. I’m willing to do any- 
thing. I understand now that I don’t know very 
much about business, or I could not have been 
so easily fooled ; but I might drive a wagon, or be 
a messenger boy, or collect bills — anything to help 
mother until dad is well again.” 

“When does the doctor think that will be?” 

“He can’t say, sir. He really doesn’t know. He 
thinks if father could get out in the country some- 
where, or on the salt water, it might do him good. 
But — but we can’t go.” 

“We will see about that,” said the Colonel, 
quickly. 

Ted’s cheek flushed with honest pride. 

“Oh, thank you, sir! But I didn’t mean — that. 
We couldn’t — we wouldn’t take help, sir.” 

“Of course not — of course not!” said Dolly’s 
father hurriedly. “I was thinking of another job 
for you — one that would take you and your fa- 
ther out of town.” 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


137 


The Colonel cast a keen glance at the boyish 
face that wore to-day the old great-grandfather 
look of sturdy strength, and felt that this was just 
the sort of boy he would have liked to call his own. 
And then he asked suddenly : 

“Are you afraid of ghosts, Teddy ?” 


CHAPTER XIII 


A BOLD MOVE 

“ A fraid of ghosts !” laughed Ted. “Why, no, 
sir ! I don’t believe in them.” 

“Neither do I,” observed the Colonel, who was 
leaning back in a big armchair in his private par- 
lor, puffing comfortably at his cigar. 

“Nevertheless, my boy,” he continued, “I’m 
having lots of trouble with ghosts just now. I 
have a fine old place on the seashore about fifty 
miles from here. I bought it at a forced sale six 
years ago, and it’s a dead weight on my hands and 
pocket. No one will buy, rent, or even live there, 
on account of its ghosts. All rank nonsense, of 
course ; but it’s nonsense that is costing me about 
three thousand a year in lost rent, repairs, taxes, 
and destruction generally. Now, I’m willing to 
give the house rent free and fifty dollars a month 
to any one that will go there and oust those ghosts 
and prove there’s nothing in them. Plenty of sen- 
sible people would take me up ; but Heron Hall is 
a lonely place, and sensible people are generally 
making more than fifty dollars a month, and can’t 
138 


A BOLD MOVE 


139 


afford to move out of town to get the job. If I 
can once prove that a respectable family lived in 
the house for six months, my ghost will be laid 
forever. It’s just the sort of place your father 
wants — sea breezes and sunshine, milk, oysters, 
fish, for the asking almost. Now, if you and your 
little mother have the pluck to try it, Heron Hall 
is yours for as long as you choose to stay.” 

“O sir, we have — we have!” replied Ted, his 
face kindling. “Mother would do anything to help 
dad get well. And — and,” continued Ted, his 
brown eyes brightening as the way seemed to 
open before him, “we could rent our house fur- 
nished. Aunt Fan knows a lady that will take it, 
if we want to give it up. O sir, how very good 
you are !” 

“Good ! Not at all. Remember the ghosts. It's 
a fair business arrangement that will save me 
several thousands a year, if you can put it through. 
Talk to your mother about it, and then come to 
me to-morrow and let me know what you 
decide. I will have the place heated and fur- 
bished up a little, and you can have possession at 
once.” 

Teddy talked it over with “little mother” that 
night long and late. There was a great deal to 


140 


A BOLD MOVE 


talk over, as we can guess. Poor Mrs. Thornton 
was struck well-nigh speechless with dismay at 
the morning's happenings. After the peril into 
which her boy had been betrayed, Colonel Jarvis' 
offer seemed most opportune. Ghosts were indeed 
shadowy, harmless things in comparison with 
such villains as Trapp and Sharkey, such treacher- 
ous friends as Jim Lane. 

“We are not afraid of the dead, dear. It is only 
the wicked living that can do us harm. And your 
father — your dear, dear father — it is just what 
he needs to give him back health, strength, life 
again. Oh, let us go, Teddy — let us go at once!" 

And so the matter was settled in Colonel Jarvis' 
brisk, energetic way. Aunt Fan's friend took the 
Thornton home just as it stood, and the “cobwebs" 
of rent and coal bills were cleared away effectu- 
ally; while Aunt Fan, loving and faithful despite 
her croaking, insisted upon closing up her own 
little apartment and going along, as she dolefully 
remarked, “to see the last of poor brother." 
Mammy Meg, who, having a banshee in the fam- 
ily, was used to ghostly ways, said she 'wouldn't 
be druv from her childher by any American ghost 
that ever walked." 

Colonel Jarvis insisted upon paying Ted's first 


A BOLD MOVE 


141 

month’s salary in advance, which simplified finan- 
cial matters greatly. So one fine morning in early 
March found our Captain marshaling his do- 
mestic forces on the deck of the steamboat which, 
by special arrangement to-day, was to stop at 
usually unnoticed Heron Point. Dad, who had 
been lifted in the strong arms of “Toby” and 
Judge Waters’ “Jeff” from house to carriage, and 
from carriage to his big rolling chair, sat at ease 
on the lower deck, wrapped in steamer rugs and 
lap robes, looking around him with dreamy eyes 
that seemed bewildered instead of brightened by 
the changing scene. Mama, a pretty flush of ex- 
citement on her cheek, was fluttering anxiously 
at his side. Aunt Fan and Mammy Meg were 
watching the transportation of the trunks, boxes, 
bundles, and barrels of household necessities ; 
while Kit and Nell were striving to repress their 
exuberant spirits into the proper dignity of young 
lady travelers; and little Rick and Bowser were 
disporting themselves about the boat without any 
repression at all. 

Ted, as became the leader of the expedition, 
was everywhere — now striving to rouse dad’s in- 
terest in the scenes about him ; now cheering the 
little mother, who was somewhat shaken by the 


142 


A BOLD MOVE 


brisk uprooting of her family tree; now reassur- 
ing Aunt Fan, who was confident that two trunks 
had been left on the wharf, and that dad would 
have another stroke from all this excitement ; and 
now seizing little Rick’s reefer just as he was 
about to plunge over the deck rail, in his wild dis- 
may at seeing old Bowser, forgetful of his years, 
jump overboard for a swim. 

So bewildering were Captain Ted’s responsi- 
bilities that time passed unnoticed, and he was 
startled to hear the hoarse shout, “ All off for Heron 
Point !” as the boat slowed up by a long, narrow 
reef jutting out into the waves. Then came the 
disembarking, aided by the good-natured officers 
of the boat, who had dad rolled safely over the 
gangway to the rude wharf beyond; while busy 
hands dumped all the household effects, leaving 
Ted, like “one of the early settlers” pictured in 
colonial history, “stranded on a wild and unknown 
shore.” A few fishermen’s cottages dotted the 
lower beach ; away beyond rose the sand, thrown 
up into cliffs and battlements by the sea and wind 
until it seemed a great frowning fortress forbid- 
ding all advance. Not a living creature was in 
sight but a long, lean dog, who, at sight of Bowser 
dripping from his swim, scuttled back to one of 


A BOLD MOVE 


143 

the cabin doors and stood there, barking hoarse 
defiance to the intruders. 

“Where is the house ?” asked the little mother, 
looking around anxiously. 

“It is cold, dear — it is very cold!” murmured 
dad, shivering despite his wrappings in the keen 
March air. 

“Poor, dear brother, this will be his death!” 
said Aunt Fan despairingly. “We’ve got off at 
the wrong place, I know, Laura. There’s no 
house here.” 

“And we’re all shipwrecked on the shore,” 
said little Rick gleefully. “Let’s make a fire. 
Bowser, bring some sticks. Sticks, old fellow, 
sticks !” 

“Oh, wait, wait!” said Kit. “Here comes some- 
thing ! It’s a long cart with two cows.” 

“Cows? You mean oxen, goosie! And that’s 
our man, I guess,” said Captain Ted, in great re- 
lief, as he saw his reinforcements approaching. 
“Colonel Jarvis said there would be some one to 
meet the boat. Halloo there, if you come from 
Heron Hall! Get a move on you, my friend ! We 
can’t stay here until night.” 

“This here ain’t no steam-engine, sonny,” said 
the driver, as his wagon slowly lumbered up to 


144 


A BOLD MOVE 


the waiting group. “What ! you all be goin’ up to 
the Hall? Lordy!” — and the speaker paused in 
open-mouthed silence, more expressive than 
words. 

“Yes, and we want to get there mighty quick, 
too. How far is it?” 

“Jest up behind the hill thar,” said the man, 
with a nod at the battlements behind him. 

“How do you get up there?” asked Ted anx- 
iously. 

“How do I git up?” repeated the other, slowly 
turning the quid of tobacco in his mouth, as he 
pondered over the question. “Why, I git up, 
sonny, jest the same way I come down.” 

“Then, mother, you and Aunt Fan and the girls 
pile in the ox-cart, and I’ll push up father in his 
chair behind you. Mammy Meg and Rick will 
stand by all this truck of ours for another load.” 

And so the party advanced. The heights, so 
forbidding, proved easy traveling, after all ; for Si 
Lynn, as the driver informed them he was called, 
and his patient steeds knew the road, that wound 
through curves and ridges in the sand dunes until 
it led into a belt of pines, amid which rose the 
brown gables of a sturdy old mansion that stood 
about a quarter of a mile from the shore. It had 


A BOLD MOVE 


145 


once been a home of wealth and taste ; skilful gar- 
dening had made velvety stretches of lawn and 
terrace about it even in these sandy wastes, and 
ivy wreathed its gables and pillars, while its south 
portico was glassed against the winds and storms. 

“Oh, what a fine old place!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Thornton in delighted surprise, as the ox-cart 
turned in a rusty iron gateway and passed up a 
graveled carriage way to the wide pillared porch. 

“Yes’m,” answered Si, slowly flicking his whip 
over the off steer. “It be a fine place in the day- 
time, ma’am. I run the farm for Colonel Jarvis 
— cows and chickens and truck garden, and every- 
thing. He’s a fine man. Thar ain’t nothin’ me 
and my old woman wouldn’t do for the Colonel 
except take care of Heron Hall at night. But the 
old woman has been up here cleanin’ and fixin’ 
for the last two weeks, ’cordin’ to the Colonel’s 
orders, and I hope you’ll find things all right.” 

And they did indeed. It was truly a home that 
seemed to welcome our travelers in these storm- 
swept wastes. Colonel Jarvis had made it ready 
for them with kind and generous care. The floors 
were waxed and polished; the quaint diamond 
panes of the windows shone crystal clear ; the old- 
fashioned mahogany furniture winked back the 


146 


A BOLD MOVE 


glow of the wood fires leaping and cracking in the 
big chimney-places. 

When Ted wheeled dad into the broad central 
hall, and looked around him at the glow, the 
warmth, the comfort on every side, he felt that he 
had struck good luck this time without mistake. 

“Bring your father in here, dear!” said “little 
mother,” in a flutter of delight. “This lovely south 
room will just suit him. He can be rolled out on 
the porch every day. Oh, it's just what the doc- 
tor wanted for him! You couldn’t have found a 
better place if we had a million dollars, Teddy 
dear!” 

“And, O Ted, have you seen the drawing- 
room ?” murmured Kit in a tone of awe. “It’s just 
splendid. Satin curtains and mirrors and all sorts 
of queer, beautiful things! It’s finer than Judge 
Waters’.” 

“And mama says we can choose our own 
room,” said little Nell breathlessly. “O Kit, let 
us take the pretty one with rosebud stuff over the 
beds and curtains and chairs !” 

“China with a crest on it!” exclaimed Aunt 
Fan, as she went on her tour of inspection around 
the dining-room and library. “A white heron, and 
family portraits at least two hundred years old, 


A BOLD MOVE 


147 


by their dress. I hope it’s all right, but I feel 
there’s some dreadful mystery about a place left 
like this. I only hope we all won’t be murdered 
in our beds.” 

“The ould kitchen below is tight as a drum, 
ma’am ; and wood and coal enough to last all the 
year,” reported Mammy Meg; “and the man says 
he is to furnish milk and cream from our own 
cows without pay, and there’s twenty fine layin’ 
hens in the chicken house beyant. It’s full and 
plenty of good things ye’ll have for the master 
now.” 

Little Rick caught the only warning note in the 
chorus of delight. 

“I say, sonny,” called old Si, as he drove slowly 
past the lawn where Bowser and his young mas- 
ter were racing and tumbling in the sunshine, 
“better keep that thar dog of yourn close after 
night.” 

“Why ?” asked little Rick breathlessly. “What 
is going to hurt him?” 

“Dunno,” answered Si; “only ’tain’t healthy 
for dogs around here at night. I’ve lost three — 
found ’em dead in the mornin’. Now I keep ’em 
indoors. You better keep yourn indoors, too.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


HERON HALL 

I t was a merry afternoon for the young Thorn- 
tons at Heron Hall. There was so much to 
see, so many wonderful things to discover, in 
their new home! “Little Mother” busied herself 
coddling dad, who seemed somewhat tired and 
bewildered by his journey. Aunt Fan, who be- 
lieved in young people making themselves useful, 
kept Kit and Nell hard at work unpacking trunks 
and boxes, and filling the great old-fashioned 
wardrobes and queer, glass-knobbed bureau draw- 
ers. Mammy Meg was downstairs getting things 
to rights in the great, oak-raftered kitchen, where 
a fine new range was doing its best to fill a chim- 
ney-place big enough to roast an ox. 

After Ted had knocked the heads out of barrels 
and the lids from boxes, and little Rick, in his ef- 
fort to help, had turned over the vinegar jug and 
broken half a dozen kitchen plates, and Bowser 
had dashed ofif with dad’s lamb chops, under the 
impression that they were his share of the picnic, 
there seemed nothing particular for boys or dogs 

148 


HERON HALL 


149 

to do except, as Aunt Fan sharply suggested, “to 
get out of the way.” 

So they “got out” into the golden sunshine, that 
seemed already to have the glad radiance and 
warmth of spring, the boys rambling around 
lawn and garden and chicken-yard ; while Bowser 
nosed curiously about bushes and outhouses, af- 
ter the manner of wise old dogs when they are 
trying to study out the puzzling ways of men. 
Why he had been ousted from his comfortable 
hearth-rug in the Thornton library and brought 
over strange, watery ways to this new home, 
Bowser could not exactly understand, and he was 
trying his best to find out. 

But in his young master’s mind there was no 
doubt about the wisdom of this move. Heron 
Hall, standing broad and stately in the golden 
sunshine, the ocean breeze sweeping up from its 
wave-washed shore, its lawns and gardens and 
fields stretching far back into the green uplands, 
was all he could ask. 

“Golly, it’s a fine place, Rick!” said Ted, paus- 
ing, as they passed out of the wide iron gate, to 
look back at his new domain. “I didn’t think 
we’d strike anything like this.” 

“I didn’t, either,” answered his small brother. 


HERON HALL 


150 

“Let us stay here always, Ted. Don’t let’s go 
home any more.” 

“Oh, we can’t!” said Ted. “There is no church, 
no school — nothing for boys and girls, Rick. 
You’d grow up into a regular hoodlum down here. 
We came only to get dad all right, and then we 
will go home again. But we shall have a good 
six months of it — all spring and all summer. And 
mother said I can have Phil Waters and Hal 
Benson and some other fellows down here; and 
we’ll see rousing times, boating and fishing and 
bathing.” 

“And can’t I go, too, Ted?” asked little Rick. 

“When I take you,” answered Ted, suddenly 
aroused to the responsibilities of his position. 
“But don’t let me catch you boating or bathing by 
yourself. I’m in charge of this family down here, 
and I don’t want you gobbled up by sharks.” 

They had followed, as they talked, the narrow 
track that led over the sand hills, and were now 
on the beach. The tide was coming in ; already the 
low wharf on which they had landed this morning 
was under water, and the waves were leaping in 
white foam-wreaths higher and higher upon the 
sands. 

A fisher boat had been pulled far up for repairs, 


HERON HALL 


151 

and a rough-bearded old man sat upon it calking 
a leak. 

“O Ted, look, look!” called little Rick ex- 
citedly. “The ocean’s broke loose! It’s coming 
over the wharf and shore and everything. Will it 
get up to Heron Hall?” 

“No,” laughed his brother. “It’s only the tide 
coming in, goosie! Does it rise very high?” he 
asked of the man in the boat. 

“In rough weather, pretty high. I’ve seen it on 
a level with them sand hills,” answered the other, 
nodding to the ridges behind. “But it ain’t hurtin’ 
nothin’ or nobody to-day. You needn’t skeer, lit- 
tle boy.” 

“Pretty wild bit of shore sometimes, I guess,” 
said Ted sociably. 

“You’d say so, I reckon, if you seen it in a 
storm,” replied the other. “Thar ain’t no wusser 
stretch along this whole coast. But luckily thar’s 
nobody got much business around Heron Point 
since the old Squire went to the dogs about ten 
years ago.” 

“Went to the dogs? How?” asked Ted, seating 
himself on the edge of the boat, while Rick and 
Bowser started for a race on the sands, at a safe 
distance from the advancing tide. 


15 ^ 


HERON HALL 


“You folks any kin to the Denhams?” asked the 
old man, cautiously. 

“No — never heard of them before. Who were 
they?” 

“Never heard of the Denhams? Lord! Lord!” 
exclaimed the other, staring blankly as if Ted had 
acknowledged ignorance of Christopher Colum- 
bus or George Washington. “I thought every- 
body knew about the Denhams. They owned all 
along this point, and fur back into the hills, more 
years than I can remember. They was the biggest 
and the richest and the highest-headed family on 
this shore. Soldiers and sailors and j edges and 
preachers, and everything great. Never heard of 
the Denhams ? Why, whar was you raised, 
younker ?” 

“Oh, some distance off!” answered Ted. 
“We're strangers here, you see — just come down 
for a while on account of father’s health. And 
the Denhams owned Heron Hall?” he asked, 
curious to hear the story of the old home. 

“Nobody else ever did, and folks say that no- 
body else ever will,” was the answer. “You can 
see by the pictures how grand and big and stiff 
they were — Miss Alicia and Miss Eleanor and 
Miss Rhody, and the Jedge and the Captain, and 


HERON HALL 


153 


old General Denham in his regimentals, and the 
Squire when he was young and good-lookin’; 
and all of them so straight and proud and uppish 
in their gold frames lookin’ down on the ornary 
folks that was just dust for ’em to tread. I heard 
say that the women over here warn’t good enough 
for the Denhams, and they hed to cross the water 
to find their wives. But thar was a bad streak in 
them, grand and great as they were,” added the 
speaker, lowering his voice as if fearful some of 
these powerful beings might be within hearing 
still. “Of course it was too long ago fur any livin’ 
person to swar to the story ; but folks did say that 
all this money didn’t come by no fair or square 
ways ; that the old Captain that fust settled at this 
point used to sail around, ’bout the time we fought 
the Britishers, with a black snake coiled round his 
masthead for a flag, and that that thar black 
snake was the terror of the Gulf.” 

“You mean he was a pirate?” asked Ted, in 
breathless interest. 

“Suthin’ pretty nigh to one — pretty nigh to it,” 
answered the old native, nodding. “At any rate, 
he come up here with a pile of money, and bought 
land from the blue-water mark as fur back as the 
hills, and settled down here with a wife that was 


154 


HERON HALL 


some sort of a furriner, to raise a family. And 
they did rise like yeast-made bread ; for money’s 
a powerful strong leaven, younker. They kep a 
risin’ and a risin’ until the big log-house the old 
Captain built couldn’t nigh hold them. Then 
Jedge Denham, his son, built that house up thar. 
He married some grand lady across the water, 
and she named it Heron Hall from her English 
home; and she had the white heron put up over 
the doors and the cupola; and folks whispered 
that now the heron had swallowed the snake. But 
it hadn’t,” remarked the speaker, with emphasis. 
“Great and grand as the Denhams were, that thar 
black snake stuck. Thar was a cuss on its old 
work they couldn’t shake off. The Good Book 
says that the sins of the parent will be visited on 
the children, and they are . Folks can’t go piratin’ 
around the world with a black snake on their mast- 
heads and expect the Lord will forget.” 

“Why, what happened?” asked Ted, eagerly. 

“The family was Visited,’ younker,” answered 
the old fisherman, gravely. “Though thar was 
plenty of fine, handsome Denhams, and they was 
preachers and soldiers and sailors, as you can see, 
every now and then thar was a boy or girl born 
with the snake-eye and the snake-voice and the 


HERON HALL 


155 


snake-temper. Most generally, along of their hav- 
in' good mothers, the Lord was merciful and that 
child died young. But if it growed up, it was a 
terror and a cuss to everybody round it. And the 
last Squire was one of them snake children. He 
was puny and peaky, but the doctors wouldn't let 
him die like the rest. They just physicked him and 
plastered him and rubbed him and kept him alive, 
and he growed up strong and well, and that cuss 
snake stood up in him, for sartain. He was a ter- 
ror sure — gamblin' and bettin', drinkin', hoss- 
racin’, doin’ everything wild and scan'lous he 
could. He broke his poor wife's heart, and he 
druv his daughter to run away and get married, 
and he grew wusser and wilder and cusseder every 
day. He kept a losin' and a losin' his money, and 
he'd go ragin' and hissin' round the house, and 
then clear out somewhar and gamble more; until 
one night about six years ago he went off in a fit 
of appleplexy, and the lawyers, when they come 
to settle things, hed to run up a red flag and sell 
everything to pay the old Squire’s debts.” 

“And Colonel Jarvis bought the place,” added 
Ted. 

“Ya-as,” answered the old fisherman slowly; 
“and I guess he ain't found it much of a bargain, 


HERON HALL 


156 

younker. If he'd asked folks about this ere point, 
they'd hev told him so. The black snake cuss is 
hangin' to that place still." 

“How?" asked Ted, conscious of an unpleasant 
creep in his blood as the old speaker fixed his dull, 
gray eyes impressively on his face. 

“You don't 'spect any one wild and wicked as 
old Squire Denham can rest. Why, it's agin na- 
ture, boy. I don't want to say nothin' to frighten 
folks off, but it's only fair to tell you that you 
all will hear from him if you stay long enough at 
Heron Hall. He ain't layin’ quiet and peaceful 
in his grave, lettin' the grass grow over him. No, 
sir! Old Squire Denham's around yet, bustin' 
with hate and spite and snake-temper." 

“What does he do?" inquired Ted, feeling that 
he might as well hear the whole ghostly story, and 
congratulating himself that little Rick was still 
racing on the sands out of reach. 

“'Tain’t fur Christian folks to know what he 
does, younker; but thar's been mighty curious 
things heard and seen at Heron Hall. Lights a 
flashin' and voices talkin' when no livin' creetur 
was nigh it, and groanin's and clankin's and 
moanin's like creeturs in pain." 

“Cats in the cellar, I guess," said Ted lightly. 


HERON HALL 


157 


“I’ve heard them outmoan any ghost that ever 
walked. And as for lights and voices, we’ll show 
you lights and voices up there in earnest now ; for 
there’s a crowd of us, and we mean to make things 
lively in the old snake roost. We don’t believe in 
ghosts, you know,” continued Ted, feeling that it 
was time to show his standard. “We don’t think 
God would let any evil spirit come back to do us 
harm. And we believe we have good angels to 
watch over us.” 

“Ye do!” cried the old man, staring blankly at 
this announcement. 

“We are Catholics, you know,” said Ted, 
frankly, “Roman Catholics.” 

“Land sakes!” observed the other. “Ye don’t 
tell me so! Now, I’d never hev thought it. Ro- 
manists! That is curious, indeed.” 

“I suppose there is no Catholic church any- 
where near here?” asked Ted. 

“No, thar ain’t. But I’ve heard that long ago 
thar was one in Heron Hall.” 

“A chapel!” exclaimed his listener eagerly. 
“Where?” 

“Dunno,” was the answer. “Reckon it’s all 
broke up long ago ; but I’ve heard that one of the 
furrin wives the Denhams married was a Roman- 


158 


HERON HALL 


ist, and had a chapel with candles and cross and 
images in it. She didn’t live long. Si Lynn 
showed me her picture one day when he and Lizy 
Jane was a cleanin’ up the house. She’s standin’ 
all dressed up in her weddin’ clothes, over the big 
chimney-place in the hall. ’Bout the prettiest pic- 
ture I ever seen. Reckon things would hev been 
different at the Hall if a woman like that could 
hev riz children. But she died when her first baby 
was born. Wall, I guess my old woman’s lookin’ 
fur me to come home to supper.” He stood up and 
straightened his stiffened limbs. “I hope I heven’t 
skeered you by my stories, younker; but it’s only 
fair fur you to know what you’re buckin’ up agin 
at Heron Hall !” 

“Oh, I have heard!” answered Ted brightly. 
“Colonel Jarvis warned me before we came. 
We’re here to lay the ghosts, and” — here our 
young Captain’s curly head gave his great-grand- 
father’s determined nod — “we’ll do it.” 


CHAPTER XV 


A NOTE OF ALARM 


he sunset was flaming in the sand hills, and 



1 the western sky was a radiant cloud-gate of 
purple and gold, as Ted took his way back to 
Heron Hall, little Rick and Bowser bounding 
gaily at his side. Kit and Nell, their duties done, 
came skipping out to meet him, brimful of delight- 
ful intelligence. 

“O Ted, there’s a churn in the kitchen pantry 
and Margaret says we will make butter! And 
we are going to have hot waffles for tea. 
And, O Ted, we’ve found the queerest little room 
back of the library! It has a stained-glass win- 
dow in it, and something like an altar, but it is 
all filled with rubbish. Mama says Kit and I 
may clear it out and make an oratory. Sister 
Angela says that every house ought to have an 
oratory. And, oh, I think it is the loveliest 
house I ever saw ! I’m not a bit afraid here. Are 


you ?” 

“ Afraid of what?” asked Ted boldly. 

“Oh, I don’t know !” answered Kit. “Aunt Fan 


159 


160 A NOTE OF ALARM 

says she hopes it’s all right, but there's something 
about the house makes her flesh creep.” 

“Pooh!” said Ted lightly. “Aunt Fan had bet- 
ter take some quinine.” 

The remark convinced our young Captain, how- 
ever, that it would be wise to keep the old fisher- 
man's story to himself. The narrative of the black 
snake would not conduce to the peace and comfort 
of the family. Ted didn't believe any such non- 
sense, of course — no St. Elmer's boy would. Yet 
the thought of the old pirate and the curse upon 
his race would come back to him unpleasantly that 
evening, when the tall shaded lamps were lit, and 
the merry supper in the great wainscoted dining 
room was done, and the children gathered around 
the fire in the hall. The flames, leaping and flash- 
ing in the big chimney, made the old portraits on 
the walls stand out almost like living faces from 
the dark background. 

Stern, haughty, high-bred faces they were, with 
one exception — the fair bride whose full-length 
picture hung over the fireplace — the young wife 
who for one brief year had brought the old Faith 
to Heron Hall. “Muriel” was inscribed on the 
frame ; and it seemed a fitting name for the beauti- 
ful girl standing in her white robes like a guardian 


A NOTE OF ALARM 161 

spirit over the hearthstone, as if she lingered to 
bless and protect it still. 

And when, as was the custom, the young 
Thorntons gathered about the fire for the nightly 
Rosary, the sweet face seemed to smile down 
upon them as if in joy at hearing again the holy, 
familiar sounds. Cheered strangely by that smile, 
whose light scattered all the gloom of the old 
fisherman’s story, Captain Ted picked up his little 
brother, who always dropped off to sleep before 
the third decade, and carried him to the room they 
were to occupy together. Bowser followed his 
young masters; and all three, worn out with the 
day’s excitement, slept like tops until morning. 
Even Aunt Fan could find no fault with the cosy 
little chamber adjoining the rosebud room of Kit 
and Nell; while dad, strangely soothed by the 
voice of the sea and the whisper of the pines, had 
no need of the “drops” he usually required to give 
him rest 

Only good Mammy Meg looked pale and worn 
next morning. Her omelet was not up to its 
usually feathery lightness, and her biscuits did 
not rise in their accustomed way. 

“Sure no, ma’am, it isn’t the new oven at all. 
The range is everything I could ask. But I’ve 


A NOTE OF ALARM 


162 

one of me headaches/’ she explained to Mrs. 
Thornton. “I never could sleep in a strange 
place, and the sea sounds quare and lonesome in 
the dark.” 

And brave Mammy Meg, having a banshee in 
her own family, determined she would keep to 
herself what she had heard and seen, and not 
frighten the “crathurs” she had come to help and 
to serve. 

“Only I’d like the loan of a blessed candle, if 
ye have one,” she said to Aunt Fan the next night. 
“Me old mother — God rest her ! — told me always 
to burn one when I slept in a strange place.” 

But Aunt Fan and every one else failed to no- 
tice that, despite the blessed candle, Mammy Meg 
evidently did not rest. She was nervous and dis- 
tracted; her hand lost its cunning; flapjacks were 
heavy, and waffles lacked the proper golden 
brown. Still, with real cream coming up in big 
pitchers to the breakfast table, fresh-laid eggs 
discovered daily in the twenty nests, appetites 
sharpened by the sea breezes, Mammy Meg’s 
failures awakened no criticism. 

The little rubbish room behind the library, 
which seemed to have escaped notice in the gen- 
eral furbishing up of the house, was taken in hand 


A NOTE OF ALARM 163 

by Kit and Nell, and cleaned out vigorously. 
Strange things were found among its old books 
and papers and bottles. There were silver candle- 
sticks, a crucifix of carved ivory, beautiful altar-' 
cloths of linen and lace, and a picture of the 
Blessed Mother and her Divine Child. The little 
room had evidently once been a portion of the 
lower hallway, partitioned off years ago by the 
master of Heron Hall, to please his Catholic 
bride. The wide oriel of stained glass seemed to 
make it most fitting for an oratory. 

The children went to work with a will; and 
when mama was called up to view the result, not 
a cobweb or dust speck was visible on the dark 
paneled walls. The sunset streamed through the 
rainbow-hued window on the lace-draped altar 
with its shining candlesticks; the sweet face of 
Mother Mary smiled over all; while the quaint 
little silver lamp burning before the crucifix told 
that the light of faith had been once more kindled 
in the gentle Muriel’s home. 

But Ted, coming into the big pantry of the 
kitchen that evening to put away a string of fish 
he had bought on the shore for the Friday break- 
fast, heard Lizy Jane, who did the family wash- 
in g, gasping a breathless story to Mammy Meg. 


164 


A NOTE OF ALARM 


“I saw him,” she panted — “I saw him plain as 
I see you now, Mrs. Malone! It was the dead 
Squire himself.” 

“Whisht now, whisht!” answered Mammy 
Meg anxiously. “Sure I’m not misdoubtin’ ye, 
woman; but don’t be blatherin’ it about before 
the childer here. Ye know innocent crathurs like 
them can’t see things like you or me; and I was 
born with a caul — worse luck to me! Drink this 
sup of tea now; it will hearten ye up. And say 
nothin’ to any one of what ye heard or saw, but 
go off with yerself home.” 

“I darn’t,” replied Lizy Jane, who, like her 
good man, Si Lynn, was a long and lean and raw- 
boned product of this storm-beaten coast. “If I 
saw it again, my heart would stop. I’d drop 
dead, I know.” 

“What was it like?” asked Mammy Meg, 
eagerly. 

“Like!” echoed Lizy Jane. “It wasn’t like no- 
body. It was himself — old Squire Nick Denham 
— not when he was old, but when he was young. 
The preachers tell us that the years drop from us 
like a garment, and they had dropped from him. 
It was the same Nick Denham, with the glitter in 
his eye and the snake-hiss on his lips, that I’ve 


A NOTE OF ALARM 


165 

seen many a time on these sands forty years ago. 
He 'walks/ as every one at Heron Point knows.” 

"And for what?” asked Mammy Meg, ex- 
citedly. 

"To hold his own. Si says he will never let any 
creature live in Heron Hall. It’s a wonder you’ve 
been left in quiet and peace this long, Mrs. Ma- 
lone.” 

"We haven’t,” said Mammy Meg, in a shaken 
voice. "Sure we haven’t been left in quiet and 
peace, woman. I don’t mind tellin’ ye now what 
I haven’t dared breathe to any one in this house. 
What I’ve gone through these past two weeks is 
enough to whiten every hair on me head, Mrs. 
Lynn. The groanin’, the clankin’, the whisperin’, 
the smells of brimstone and sulphur that are 
around me every night, it is as if the lost souls 
were tryin’ to drag me off with them before the 
break of day. Whether it’s for the caul or me' sins 
I can’t tell. But sure I can bear it,” added Mammy 
Meg, bravely steadying the tremor in her voice. 
"I can bear it. I’ll not have the childer frightened 
off from an elegant place like this, with no rent 
to pay, and coal and wood in plenty, and a milch 
cow, and twenty layin’ hens. No, Mrs. Lynn, I’ll 
not have them druv off by any devil that ever 


1 66 


A NOTE OF ALARM 


broke loose from below — God forgive me for that 
same word ! I’ll stand up till the master gets back 
his life and strength again, if it kills me en- 
tirely ” 

“No, you shan’t !” said a cheerful boyish voice, 
and Ted was behind his good old nurse with both 
arms around her neck. “You’ll not stand it an- 
other night, you dear old plucky Mammy Meg! 
So the ghosts have tackled you, and you wouldn’t 
tell?” 

“Whisht now, dear!” said the good woman, 
anxiously. “Oh, you young rapscallion, what call 
had you to be listenin’ to two old women tellin’ 
tales over their tea ?” 

“You shan’t sleep in that room another night,” 
said Ted decidedly. “I won’t have your pretty 
curly hair turned gray by any ghosts while I hold 
the fort. I knew there was something wrong 
when you burned the waffles this morning.” 

“Sure there was — there was ! My hand has got 
that trimbly I can’t hold aither a spoon or a fork. 
But I can stand it, jewel! I’m an old fool to be 
talkin’ of noises and smells in a fine place like this, 
where ye are all so happy and lucky. It’s because 
I’m an old sinner that they throuble me, darlint! 
I’ll not mind.” 


A NOTE OF ALARM 


167 


‘Til not have it,” said Ted, with his great- 
grandfather’s nod. “If there are any ghosts to be 
tackled about here, it’s my business to get a grip 
on them. You tumble into my room with little 
Rick to-night, and Bowser and I will settle the 
ghosts.” 

“No, no, Master Teddy darlint — no!” said 
Mammy Meg, in great alarm. “I never meant 
you should hear a word of this. It will frighten 
yer mother and the childer.” 

“No, it won’t; for they shan’t hear a word of 
it. Come, Mrs. Lynn — I’ll see you home ; and the 
old Squire won’t trouble us, I promise you. He 
has no further business at Heron Hall.” 

And, reassured by Ted’s cheery tone and words, 
Lizy Jane consented to be escorted to her little 
cottage, about a quarter of a mile from the great 
house, in the fertile uplands, where the brown 
fields and meadows stood waiting the early plant- 
ing. Birds were already twittering in their new- 
made nests, and all things whispered of life and 
hope and spring. 

Old Si, sitting in his front door, smoking his 
evening pipe, listened stolidly to Lizy Jane’s ex- 
cited story. 

“It ain’t no more than I expected,” he re- 


1 68 A NOTE OF ALARM 

marked. “Them Denhams ain’t agoin’ to let that 
thar house go without a fight fur it. Livin’ or 
dead, they’re agoin’ to hold Heron Hall. And 
that thar west wing is the wust bit of it all. It 
was the old house, ye see, built by the fust Den- 
ham that settled at the Point here. They do say 
that it is honeycombed with cellars whar he 
stored things he had brought from sea and didn’t 
care to show in the light of day. Whether he got 
them by smugglin’ or piratin’, nobody could say. 
No, that thar west wing ain’t a good place. Best 
keep clear of it, younker,” warned old Si, with a 
parting nod. 

And it was in the west wing that poor Mammy 
Meg had tried to sleep. 

“My bargain was to oust the ghosts,” thought 
Captain Ted, as he strode homeward in the moon- 
light. “Bowser and I will hold the west wing to- 
night, or we’ll know why!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 

T ed had reckoned, however, without his 
Mammy Meg. All his persuasion could not 
induce that faithful creature to give up her post. 

“Sure, and won’t the mistress and Miss Fanny 
and the childer be wonderin’ what sort of an old 
goose I am to be takin’ yer place, Master Ted? 
No, me darlint! Ye can bring the dog, if ye must 
have it so, and I’ll fix the little room next to mine 
for ye. Ye can watch there, but I’d not leave ye 
in that place alone for all the gold in the 
Indies.” 

And with this compromise Ted had to rest con- 
tent. So, when the Rosary, that was said now in 
the little oratory, was over, and dad, who spent 
his evenings pleasantly by the library fire, was 
rolled back into his own big room, and Kit and 
Nell and little Rick were safely disposed of for 
the night, Ted and Bowser betook themselves to 
the west wing. 

It was a long, low, two-story building, that 
seemed to crouch behind the big house as if striv- 

169 


170 A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 

ing to hide itself. The stout old timbers, sea- 
soned by sun and storm, still stood firm; but the 
iron bolts had become loosened, and the ivied 
chimneys were crumbling. The home of the first 
Denhams was, in fact, slowly tottering to its fall. 
As a residence, it had been given up by the family 
for years; but it contained the former kitchens, 
storerooms, pantries and closets, the servants’ 
hall and bedrooms. These latter were filled with 
cumbrous furniture banished from the great house 
half a century ago. The pines grew close to the 
walls ; a heavy growth of ivy shrouded the 
dormer windows; all was gloom and desolation. 
Ted felt that the blessing of the white-robed 
Muriel had not reached the west wing of Heron 
Hall. 

As became the commanding officer of a doubt- 
ful outpost, our Captain made his rounds before 
he retired for the night ; Bowser, his trusty lieu- 
tenant, nosing curiously about beside him, and 
wondering doubtless “what was up.” There were 
rats in the old wainscot, Bowser seemed to think ; 
for he sniffed about with low growls and pricked 
ears as if prepared for battle; while Ted barred 
doors and windows and made everything tight 
and fast before he ascended the steep, crooked 


A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 171 

steps to the little room in which he was to pass 
the night. 

Mammy Meg had prepared it for her brave pro- 
tector. A cheery log fire blazed in the old black 
chimney-place; a worn rug was laid before it for 
Bowser’s comfort; the bed was made up with 
spotless linen, and the good woman was patting 
a pair of snowy pillows into proper plumpness for 
her boy; while, best of all, a crystal pitcher of 
milk and a plate of caraway cookies stood in- 
vitingly on the toilet table. 

“Nothing bad about this,” said Ted, looking 
around with great satisfaction. “I wouldn’t 
blame any ghost for trying to butt in here.” 

“Whisht now!” said Mammy Meg anxiously. 
“Don’t be namin’ names, Teddy dear. Ye’re the 
brave, bold lad to be standin’ by yer poor old 
nurse; and it warms me heart to have ye here. 
With God’s blessin’, we’ll have a quiet night.” 

And, reassured by her boy’s presence, the good 
woman, who was quite worn out with her fears, 
went into her own room and was soon peacefully 
asleep. Ted, we must confess, was more wakeful. 
The bravest and wisest of boys can not be alto- 
gether proof against such grisly stories as had 
been poured into his ears of late; and the old west 


172 A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 


wing, in its gloom and desolation, seemed to em- 
body all the dark traditions of Heron Hall. Here 
the old pirate captain had lived; here he had 
hoarded and hidden his ill-gotten wealth ; here he 
had died, perhaps in remorse and despair. 

“Bowser, old chap,” said Ted to his half- 
dozing companion, “if this west wing belonged 
to us, it shouldn’t stand a week. We’d tumble the 
old snake roost down, and level it into a tennis 
court. Wouldn’t we, Bowser?” 

And our young Captain, having disposed of 
Mammy Meg’s seedcakes and milk, said his pray- 
ers, gave a good-night rub to old Bowser’s shaggy 
back, and tumbled into bed. It was some time be- 
fore he could sleep. The wind was rising with 
the night; there was a deeper and fiercer note in 
the boom of the waves ; the shutters were shaking 
on their fastenings ; the barred doors rattled as if 
under impatient hands; the old house seemed 
creaking and straining like a ship at sea. Now 
and then a fierce gust would sweep down the 
chimney and make the great logs flare into sud- 
den blaze and smoke; while everywhere — under 
the eaves, and from the pines, and through the 
corridors and stairways — there came moanings 
and whisperings as of creatures in pain. 


A NIGHT IN THE „ WEST WING 173 

It was only the wind, as Ted knew. Luckily, he 
was, as all soldiers should be, a sturdy, clear- 
headed fellow, not given to imaginings. 

Yet, however straight-seeing eyes may be, it is 
not pleasant to keep them open in the darkness, 
with the sea booming a deep accompaniment to 
the voice of a rising storm, and stories of old 
pirates and squires, who could not rest in their 
graves, blending with the moan of the wind 
through a haunted hall. It was not until Ted 
harked back to his school-days, and began to 
drone over the Latin lines learned in many a peni- 
tential hour of “jug,” that he drifted off into a 
dream world, where he seemed to be steering a 
big ship through a wild clamor of wind and 
storm. The sky was dark with ragged clouds; 
the waves stretched, a wide waste of angry foam- 
crests into vast, unseen distances ; his ship had no 
sails nor spars, only one tall mast, from which 
floated the old college banner, St. Elmer’s blue 
and white cross, with its motto, Deo Duce. And 
gathered upon the deck was Captain Ted’s only 
crew — his mother, dad in his big rolling chair, 
Kit, Nell, little Rick, Mammy Meg, Aunt Fan, 
and old Bowser, faithful even in dreams. 

Then suddenly, as he swept over this unknown 


174 A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 


sea, his strong hand upon the helm, a cry of terror 
broke from his mother's lips; and, looking back, 
he saw bearing down upon him in full sail the 
pirate ship of the Denhams, the black snake coiled 
about her masthead, her decks crowded with a 
wild, fierce crew; while in front of all, with the 
dark, strange face, the glittering eyes Ted knew 
so well, stood the giant of the Bean Stalk, Mr. 
Sharkey, a full-fledged pirate chief. 

In vain Captain Ted tried to steer away: with 
a mighty crash the two ships came together, and 
then — then — Ted found himself sitting up in bed, 
with the old house fairly rocking beneath him, 
and Bowser's wild bark blending with Mammy 
Meg's terrified shriek: 

“Murder, murder ! Are ye alive at all, lad, that 
ye can sleep through this? Sure every devil be- 
low must have broke loose to-night !" 

Ted sprang to his feet. The March equinoctial 
had burst upon the shore in all its fury. The roar 
of the waves and the shriek of the wind made a 
deafening clamor, through which came the crash 
of breaking trees, the rattle of falling shutters, and 
the crackling of shivered glass. The fire was out, 
and Mammy Meg loomed up a ghostly figure in 
the darkness, sobbing in hysterical terror. 


A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 175 

“Sure it's the worst of all — the worst of all! 
I didn’t dare move hand or foot to call ye, lad, for 
fear the devils would throttle me. I heard them 
cursin’ as plain as I hear meself now. And the 
dog heard them too. He came into me room be- 
yant, mad with fright. And then — then I could 
hold in no longer; for I thought, lad, some hurt 
had come to ye. O God have mercy on us all! 
What is that!” shrieked Mammy Meg wildly, as 
the whole house shook with a thundering roar 
and crash, that was followed by a cry — a cry so 
piercing, so despairing, that it chilled every drop 
of blood in our brave Captain’s veins. 

For a moment he stood breathless, speechless, 
mute with horror such as he had never felt before ; 
then, with Bowser barking wildly at his heels, he 
sprang into the adjoining room, whence the cry 
had seemed to come. He was met by a fierce rush 
of wind and sleet. The big chimney, crumbling 
under its two hundred years, had gone down, leav- 
ing a wide, ragged-edged void open to the storm. 

“Back, Bowser! — back!” shouted our Captain 
to his trusty comrade, who, wild with excitement, 
was ready to leap into the gap. “Back, I say! 
What’s the matter with you? This settles our 
bout with the ghosts to-night. We’ll have to get 


176 A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 


out of here before the whole old snake roost top- 
ples down on us. Come, Mammy Meg! Bowser 
old chap, come along!” 

It was rather a shaken trio, it must be con- 
fessed, that beat a rapid retreat through the 
dark corridors and stairways of the west wing to 
the great house that stood unshaken in the storm. 
The sleepers there, too, had been roused by the 
last crash. The girls had fled in terror into Aunt 
Fan’s room. Little Rick was crying piteously; 
and when Mammy Meg hurried in to quiet her 
baby, Ted found “little mother” wandering up 
the big stairs, pale and nervous. 

“O Ted, where have you been? I was so 
frightened about you, dear, when Rick cried that 
you were not with him. What has happened, Ted ?” 

“One of the chimneys in the wing tumbled in, 
that’s all,” answered Ted cheerily. “I was over 
there, taking care of Mammy Meg, who felt a lit- 
tle lonely in the storm. Gracious! it’s a howler, 
isn’t it? How’s father standing it?” 

“It roused him,” said his mother anxiously. 
“He seemed very wide awake and nervous. He 
insisted upon getting up, saying that he could not 
sleep. And the fire is out in his room. I think, if 
you would roll him into the library, Ted — it’s 


A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 1 77 


warm and pleasant in there — he will be more com- 
fortable/’ 

“All right!” answered Ted. “I’ll look out for 
dad. Don’t worry, mother dear. Everybody is 
safe now, and this old house is as solid as Gibral- 
tar. There is always a big blow, this time of year, 
on the coast — the equinoctial, you know. You go 
up with the girls, before Aunt Fan gets them into 
hysterics, and I’ll hold the fort with dad down 
here.” 

And Ted, who, in the light and warmth and 
strength of the big house, had quite recovered his 
spirit and nerve, had his loving way. Mama went 
upstairs to soothe her little girls, who, at Aunt 
Fan’s cheerful suggestion, were saying prayers 
for those “in danger of death”; while Ted threw 
an armful of wood on the library fire, and rolled 
dad into the pleasant warmth. His dark eyes 
fixed upon the fire had a brighter look than usual, 
and he worked his helpless hands every now and 
then as if some thrill of the old life was tingling 
in nerve and vein. 

Meantime the fury of the storm seemed to be 
spent. The wind was dying away into fitful gusts 
and moanings, and the thunderous roar of the 
breakers had softened into a dull, measured boom 


178 A NIGHT IN THE WEST WING 

like the beat of retreating drums. The old house 
was very still. Mama must have fallen asleep up- 
stairs with the girls ; old Bowser had gone to his 
usual bed on little Rick's hearth-rug; dad was 
dozing comfortably at last in his easy-chair ; and 
Ted himself began to nod. Really, there seemed 
no further need for our Captain to keep awake. 

It had been a tough night, he thought, as he 
stretched his arms above his curly head and leaned 
back in the old cushioned chair — a very tough 
night. That old west wing ought to come down 
before it tumbled over and killed some one. He 
would write to Mr. Jarvis about it to-morrow. 
The place would make a fine tennis court — just 
the shape and size. Ted wasn't quite sure that 
'twould be wise to suggest this. Gentlemen of mid- 
dle age do not always realize the value of tennis 
courts. The whole matter was growing rather hazy 
before our Captain's half-closed eyes when a sud- 
den sound startled him into wide-awake attention. 

Somebody was stirring softly in the little ora- 
tory — was stealing in through its half-open door. 
He turned, and with a sharp cry of alarm sprang 
to his feet. Mr. Sharkey, the counterfeiter, pale, 
demon-eyed, desperate, confronted his recent 
youthful dupe. 


CHAPTER XVII 


VICTORY 

M r. Sharkey indeed ; but not the trim, dap- 
per Sharkey Ted had known. A blood- 
stained handkerchief was knotted about his 
head, his throat was bared, his clothes covered 
with grime and dust. All this our Captain seemed 
to see in one flashing glance ; for as their eyes met, 
the Giant of the Bean Stalk, with a low-hissed 
curse, was upon him, his long slim hands grasp- 
ing Ted's throat. 

“Ah, you young bloodhound — you are on the 
watch, eh — on the watch! Make one sound and 
I — I will kill you — kill you !” 

It was a foul tackle; but Ted met it with all his 
football skill, struggling fiercely and manfully as 
the deadly grip tightened on his throat, shutting 
off breath and sight; and his brain grew dizzy 
and his young life seemed going out in an agony 
of darkness, while Sharkey’s voice sounded like 
a roar of rushing waters in his ear, and a thousand 
pictures flashed into his mind. The office in the 
Bean Stalk, Mr. Trapp with his glittering scarf- 
179 


i8o 


VICTORY 


pin, Dolly in her feathers and furs, the white 
walls of Fort Kostka, the great stained window 
in the college chapel where St. Michael blazed out 
at Benediction time across the sunset sky. “Ora 
pro nobis;” the choir was singing — “Ora pro 
nobis , Mater Dei ” — and then sound and sight 
seemed to snap off in an awful crash, and dad’s 
voice was ringing out with all the strength of old. 

“You villain — you murderous villain !” and 
dad — dad! — was actually standing with clenched 
fists and blazing eyes, while Sharkey lay in a help- 
less heap at his feet. 

Then Ted never knew exactly what happened; 
it takes a minute or two for even a football cap- 
tain to get wits and breath into working order 
after such a shock. They told him afterward that 
his wild cries of joy roused the house. They all 
came rushing down — mother and the girls — the 
latter, with their pretty curls flying; Aunt Fan 
with her hair on end, Mammy Meg with little Rick 
holding to her skirts, and Bowser barking wildly 
behind her. And they found Sharkey lying 
stunned and senseless on the hearth-rug, floored 
by the mighty blow dad had learned from his 
English boxing-master of long ago; dad, whose 
long dream was broken at last, dad, who, roused 


VICTORY 


181 

by the murderous attack on his boy, had started 
up into life and strength to defend him. Realizing 
perhaps that his beloved commander-in-chief was 
once more at the front, our sturdy Captain now 
sank with a little cry into Mammy Meg’s arms 
and fainted outright. 

For three whole days he was ill — too ill to walk 
or to talk, which really was very hard to bear. 
It is bad enough for a boy to be ill even in quiet 
times, but to be shut up in a darkened room, with 
doctors, coroners, reporters, and police officers in- 
vestigating things, and the whole house thrilling 
with excitement, is truly the toughest kind of luck. 
At the end of the third day, however, Ted woke 
up from a long nap, to find that the queer buzzing 
pain, in his head was altogether gone, and that he 
would like to have something more solid than 
gruel and toast for supper. Kit, who was on duty 
as nurse, fully impressed with the responsibilities 
of her position, was seated solemnly by the dark- 
ened window, when a well-aimed pillow came fly- 
ing at her head, and her patient sat up recklessly. 

“Ted!” she gasped in dismay. “Oh, he is deliri- 
ous again !” 

“Delirious!” scoffed her patient. “Not much! 
I’m up again, and in the game. Hand over those 


VICTORY 


182 

oranges, Kit, and let me begin on one of them. 
Isn’t that a pitcher of milk I see in the window? 
Geewhillikins ! I’m as hungry as Kilkannegan 
himself. How long has it been since I’ve had a 
square meal ?” 

“You’ve been sick three days — since — since — 
but you must not talk, Ted. Oh, I am so glad 
you are better ! But the doctor said you must not 
talk — the doctor that came up to see Mr. Shar- 
key.” 

“Sharkey?” echoed Ted. “Oh, yes, I remem- 
ber! Sharkey tackled me.” And now the speak- 
er’s face lighted up into eager interest. “And 
dad — dad — what has happened to dad, Kit?” 

“Oh, he is better ! He is getting well ; he is al- 
most like he used to be, Ted, only he can’t walk 
very far yet. Mama says it’s a miracle, and we 
ought to thank God for it as long as we live. 
When dad saw that awful man trying to choke 
you, he just roused right up and knocked him 
down. The doctors say a great shock will cure 
people sometimes, just that way.” 

“And dad did for Sharkey, you mean? Laid 
him out for good and all?” said Ted, breathlessly 
— “killed him?” 

“Oh, no! He was hurt anyhow — dreadfully. 


VICTORY 


183 


The chimney had fallen on him — but the doctor 
said you mustn’t talk about it, Ted. You mustn't 
talk!” 

“Pooh, nonsense! Go on, Kit! I’ve simply 
got to hear the whole thing now, or I’ll be deliri- 
ous in earnest. The chimney fell on him, you say? 
What was he doing under the chimney ? I thought 
he came here to have it out with me for blow- 
ing on him.” 

“Ted, Ted, you mustn't talk — the doctor said 
so !” protested his small nurse, desperately. 

“Then I won’t, I won’t! You do the talking, 
and I’ll listen. Stick to the track if you can, Kit, 
and make a straight story. What brought Shar- 
key up to Heron Hall ?” 

“It used to be his mother’s house,” explained 
Kit. “He was the old Squire’s grandson, and he 
knew all about the cellars under the west wing, 
and what a nice hiding-place they made. Oh, you 
don’t know what a fine hiding-place it was for bad 
men, Ted — with a secret passage running away 
to the sand hills, and walled up rooms where they 
had been making bad money for years — the kind 
of bad money they sent you round with in town. 
It was all made here under the west wing. They 
had fires down there, and presses, and things to 


184 


VICTORY 


coin dollars and print notes — and, oh, everything ! 
And they used to steal into the secret passage at 
night, and people would think they were ghosts 
and be scared off from Heron Hall. But after we 
came they got frightened and didn’t want to 
work, and Mr. Sharkey came down himself to try 
and keep them at it, or move his things somewhere 
else; and he was in there with another man the 
night of the storm. Mammy Meg heard them 
cursing and swearing ” 

“Through her chimney!” exclaimed Ted, who 
was beginning to see things clearly. “Her chim- 
ney went right down to their den, I suppose?” 

“Yes; and when it tumbled down, it fell on 
them and blocked the passage out. The other man 
— the fellow with the false whiskers — was killed. 
They found him all crushed to death; and then 
Sharkey, who was hurt awfully, too, tried to get 
out. There was one way he knew — a passageway 
that opened into this big house; but when he got 
there he found we had made it into an oratory, 
Ted; and he had to steal through the library. He 
thought everybody had gone to bed, I suppose; 
and when he found you watching ” 

“He turned devil outright,” said Ted, nodding. 

“Yes,” said Kit gravely, “I guess he did, Ted; 


VICTORY 


185 


and he is dying like that now. The doctors say 
they don’t know how he made that last fight, he 
was so dreadfully hurt. They put him upstairs 
in the spare room, and there’s a man nurse the 
police sent taking care of him. But he has told 
mama he can do nothing with him: he is the 
worst devil he ever met. We say the Beads for 
him every night, but it doesn’t seem to do him 
any good,” concluded Kit, with a hopeless shake 
of her pretty head—' “not a bit.” 

And everybody seemed pretty much of the 
same opinion, as Ted found when he was up and 
able to investigate matters for himself. It was a 
glad getting up for our Captain ; for all was hope 
and sunshine at Heron Hall. The searchlight of 
the law had fallen upon its ghosts, and they had 
vanished into empty air. The trees were budding, 
the grass growing green in the sheltered garden 
beds; crocuses and tulips were already donning 
their Easter bonnets; and dad was slowly walk- 
ing the big portico, leaning on Ted’s arm. Only 
one shadow lingered in the spring sunshine of the 
happy home — the last of the Denham race lay in 
one of its upper chambers dying in darkness and 
despair. 

It was about a week after the storm that a glad 


VICTORY 


1 86 

shout from little Rick announced the arrival of a 
welcome visitor ; and he and Bowser came bound- 
ing up the cedar avenue escorting the newcomer 
— a pleasant-faced old gentleman with silver hair 
and kind gray eyes. 

“Father Barry, Mama — Father Barry!” rang 
out Rick's delighted cry ; and in a moment every- 
body was at the door to meet the fatherly greeting 
and blessing. 

“Really, when one hears of miracles like this, it 
becomes a pastor to investigate,” said the good 
priest, his face lighting up as he grasped dad's 
hand. “And, although I suppose the doctors ex- 
plained it to their satisfaction, we have no less 
reason to bless God for His great mercy and love. 
But it is not altogether to congratulate you, dear 
friends, that I come to-day. I am in search of a 
sheep — a lost sheep that was a lamb in my little 
fold less than twenty years ago.” 

“Not — not Ned Sharkey, surely, Father!” ex- 
claimed dad, in amazement. “Why, I caught him 
forging checks before Ted was born! He has 
been the blackest of black sheep always.” 

“Ah, no, no!” said Father Barry softly. 
“When I knew him he was as white a lamb as 
this” — patting little Rick's head. “His mother 


VICTORY 


187 


was dead, but he had a good grandmother, who 
sent him to St. John’s School ; and he was as good 
and innocent a boy as you could find. But the 
grandmother died when little Ned was twelve 
years old, and his father took him in hand; and 
after that — after that my poor lamb went astray 
into brier, bramble, and pit where lambs are lost ; 
and now you have him here, I understand.” 

“Yes,” answered dad, “to my sorrow we have. 
The doctors said it would be fatal to move him.” 

“And they have left him to your charity, my 
dear friends?” 

“Well, scarcely, Father. It is hard to think of 
charity when I recall that villain’s murderous 
clutch on my boy’s throat. The city authorities 
have him in charge, and have sent up some one to 
watch and care for him. This pitying little wife 
of mine would have gone to him, but his keeper 
begged me to keep her out of the room.” 

“Poor fellow!” said Father Barry sadly. “It 
is the madness of despair, my friend. I have seen 
it before. I would like to go to him at once.” 

“You, Father!” said dad. “He would not see 
you, I am sure.” 

“We will not ask him,” answered Father Barry, 
smiling. “Let Ted here take me to his door, my 


1 88 VICTORY 

friends — that is all I ask. I will introduce my- 
self.” 

“As you please, then, Father,” said dad; 
“though I fear you will find this case beyond even 
your charity.’’ 

“He is too far gone to pitch anything at your 
head, Father,” said Ted, as he led the way up the 
stairs. “But I wouldn’t get too close to him.” 

“Have no fear, my son,” said the priest, 
quietly. “He will not harm me, I am sure. Is this 
the room? Thanks! I will go right in.” 

And he passed quietly in; Ted, anxious for his 
loved pastor’s safety, lingering on the threshold. 

The sickroom was in all the confusion of a bat- 
tleground. Bottles, bandages, glasses, were scat- 
tered over the floor, where the patient had flung 
them in his fury and pain. Sharkey lay with start- 
ing eyes and foaming lips, under the strong hands 
of his keeper, who was tightening a leather strap 
that held him to the bed. 

“I had to do it, Doctor,” the man explained, be- 
lieving the newcomer to be the physician. “He’s 
got the dying strength on him now, and my life 
or anybody else’s isn’t safe with him. I just have 
to strap him down ” 

And then the outburst of hissing curses from 


VICTORY 189 

the patient’s lips suddenly ceased, for a gentle 
hand was laid on the death-dampening brow. 

“Ned, my poor boy!” said a low voice. “Don’t 
you know me — don’t you remember — Father 
Tom?” 

A shriek of despair came from the frothing 
lips, and then a volley of awful words that chilled 
the young listener’s blood. But “Father Tom” 
was an old soldier of the Cross, and stood his 
ground unmoved. 

“Sh-sh-sh !” he said, in the calm voice that had 
stilled tumult and strife in the schoolroom and 
playground of yore. “My poor boy, you are suf- 
fering, I know ; but this won’t do — this won’t do. 
Your old father has come to help you, my son. 
I’m not too late, Ned — it’s never too late. Loosen 
the strap,” said Father Barry to the staring 
keeper, as the curses died away in a long, hoarse 
sob, “and leave me alone with him. I can man- 
age him now.” 

And Ted listened no longer, but stole away with 
a strange, sweet awe in his heart, as if he had 
heard the rustle of angel wings. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 

V "'here was company in the parlor — there was 

* often company now. The story of Heron 
Hall had gone abroad ; forgetful friends had been 
roused into interest or curiosity, and on these 
bright spring days it was only a pleasant drive 
from the nearest railway station for those who 
could afford to hire carriage and horse. But the 
sound of gay voices and laughter seemed to jar 
on our young Captain just now, and he stole 
quietly out of the house into the April sun- 
shine. 

Men were busy clearing away the ruins of the 
west wing; for the big chimney, wide enough to 
roast an ox, had, in its crash, carried away the 
best part of the north wall. The secrets of the 
counterfeiters' den were laid bare to the light — * 
the vault in which they had worked, and the nar- 
row, arched passageway through which they went 
and came from the sand hills without. 

Ted stood watching awhile with interest. He 
would like to have investigated more closely; 


HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 191 


but ropes were stretched about the ruin, and Mr. 
Jarvis’ orders were imperative. 

“It’s a big job,” said one of the men, pausing 
to mop his brow. “There’s enough bricks in this 
chimney to build a good-sized house, but they’re 
as crumbly as dirt. It’s a wonder it didn’t fall 
long ago and kill decenter folks than them ras- 
cals that was at their devil’s work under it that 
night. The chap that we tuk out never knew 
what hurt him, I guess. How is the other fellow 
that nabbed you?” 

“Very bad,” answered Ted gravely. 

“Well, I guess no one will cry for him,” said 
the man, with a short laugh, as he went back to 
his work; and Ted kept on to the beach, where the 
tide was out, and old Pete the fisherman sat on the 
wharf mending his drag nets. 

“Gettin’ round pretty peart again?” he said, 
with a friendly nod. 

“Oh, yes! I’m all right,” answered Ted cheer- 
ily. 

“Lands! lands!” murmured the old man. “To 
think of the last of the Denham blood endin’ like 
that chap up there! You see, poor Miss Lucy 
died, and then that there sporty husband of hers 
let the boy go to the old Nick, and showed him 


I 9 2 happy days at heron hall 

the quickest way, I reckon. His grandmother 
used to hev him up here sometimes when the old 
Squire was on one of his wild trips, and he 
learned all about the old house then. He was one 
of the snake children, the very image, I hear, of 
his grandfather. No wonder some folks tuk him for 
the Squire’s ghost when they met him skulkin’ 
around here in the dark. Well, it’s all up with him 
now, I guess. The black snake of the old pirate is 
scotched at last.” 

And old Pete rose slowly with his nets, and 
sauntered back to his cabin, leaving Ted to stretch 
himself on the sands, his arms clasped under his 
curly head, his eyes fixed on the sunset sky, while 
his thoughts went back to all the strange things 
that had happened since that morning, now nearly 
four months ago, when he had dropped the blue 
and white flag of St. Elmer’s to pitch into, with 
such blind boyish pluck, the bigger game in the 
camp of Life. 

It had been a tough tussle. He had been tricked, 
downed, and very nearly knocked out ; but things 
had worked out right somehow, after all. Dad 
was growing better and stronger every day. Mr. 
Wirt had come back from Europe and was look- 
ing after things in town. Judge Waters and Mr. 


HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 193 

Jarvis stood ready to help; and some “stocks” 
that had been thought worthless were booming 
and jumping in a way that bade fair to make up 
for their winter tumble. Yes, the storm was 
pretty well over — our Captain’s work was done. 
And while he was thus thinking, a quiet step 
came over the sands, and Father Barry soon 
stood beside him. 

“They told me you were here, and I came to 
find you,” he said. “It’s all over, Ted. The poor 
fellow is gone.” 

“Gone!” echoed Ted, springing to his feet, 
startled. “You mean Sharkey, Father!” 

“Yes, he is gone in a mood of peace and peni- 
tence for which I scarcely dared hope,” answered 
Father Barry, and his voice trembled, and there 
were traces of tears in his kind eyes. “But the 
thought, the memory of the past, the clasp of his 
old father’s hand, the sound of his voice, drove 
away the demon of despair. Ah, the good God 
never forgets, Ted! He remembered the little 
lamb of long ago.” 

And as the good priest bared his head, the sun- 
set seemed to make a halo around his silver hair. 

“He sent a last word to you, Ted. It was this, 
‘Forgive me for the harm I did, for the greater 


i 9 4 HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 


harm I tried to do/ ” The priest laid his hand 
gently on Ted’s shoulder. 

“Why, of course,” answered the boy simply. 
“I’m glad you got here, Father, and gave him a 
chance.” 

“More than a chance, I trust, Ted. It is not for 
us to judge. All we know is that God’s mercy is 
wider, deeper, more far-reaching than yonder sea. 
To that mercy he turned at last. We can hope and 
pray even for him, that light may shine after his 
dark, sad, sinful day.” 

For a moment they stood in silence. The rose 
and gold had faded from the shimmering waves 
and the paling sky; but where these blended on 
the far horizon into the violet shadows, a star was 
trembling — a star like the silver altar lamp at St. 
Elmer’s, that burned night and day before the 
throne of Mercy and Love. 

* * * * * 

After this dark episode Heron Hall brightened 
with the brightening year. When the lilacs flow- 
ered dad was out in the garden; and before the 
June roses bloomed, he was able to take a trip to 
town. 

All its ghosts banished forever, the old Hall 
fairly brimmed with young life and love and 


HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 195 

hope. Dolly, whom Jack had brought down for a 
few days at the seashore, was so charmed with 
Kit and Nell, to say nothing of her big boy 
brother Ted, that she refused to leave; and Jack, 
realizing perhaps what this merry home circle 
meant to his motherless little girl, gladly agreed 
to Mama’s proposition that Dolly should make 
a third in the pretty rosebud room while 
Miss Burnham went off for her summer holi- 
day. 

Then Ted brought up Humpty, who was linger- 
ing on, white and hollow-eyed, in the close base- 
ment kitchen, and who, the doctors said, would 
pick up again, they thought, if he could get fresh 
milk and sea air. And this time the doctors proved 
right ; for in two weeks after his arrival, Humpty 
had forgotten his “internal injuries,” and was 
hopping around the beach as lively as a sand crab ; 
or, stretched upon the sunny porch, was spelling 
out the newspapers with the street boy’s lively 
interest in all the happenings in town. 

“Jiminy!” he exclaimed one morning when 
thus engaged. “That’s him — that’s him, sure!” 

“Who?” asked Ted, looking up from the boat 
he was whittling out for little Rick and Dolly to 
launch in the rain tub. 


196 HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 

“The chap that nearly did for me last winter. 
That’s his picture, sure. Read about it, Ted.” 

And, staring for a moment at the unmistakable 
portrait of his “good friend,” Ted read: 

“Special Officer Grimes has made a haul which 
commends him to the gratitude of the public. For 
some months householders in the 14th precinct 
have been annoyed by a series of thefts almost 
too petty singly to be brought to the notice of the 
police. Hats, coats, umbrellas, door mats, milk 
jars, table linen, have been taken from doors, 
porches, and yards left open on account of the 
warm weather, until complaints became so wide- 
spread and universal that Officer Grimes was de- 
tailed to investigate the matter. He discovered a 
regular organization of young toughs calling 
themselves the T. T.’s, or Twenty Thieves, under 
the direction of a ‘Captain Jamborando,’ other- 
wise known as Jim Lane. This youth made his 
headquarters in an old stable in Blake Street, 
which was found packed with stolen goods, wait- 
ing for delivery to certain small shops on the 
East Side, where they command ready and un- 
questioning sale. 

“Captain Jamborando, despite his high-sound- 
ing name, weakened ignobly when he found him- 


HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 197 

self in the grip of the law, and confessed all. It 
seems that he and his band had been in the employ 
of the Easy Money Men, distributing their coun- 
terfeit coins and bills ; and on the exposure of that 
nefarious concern, these young gamins, trained 
by the older sharpers, organized for the petty out- 
lawry which bade fair to lead to wider lives of 
crime. The whole band, including their chief, 
whose father declines to interfere, have been sent 
to the State Reform School, where we hope they 
will receive the stern and salutary lessons they 
need.” 

“Jerusalem!” exclaimed Ted. “ ‘Captain Jam- 
borando!’ That’s Jim Lane, sure enough!” 

“Is the Reform School very bad ?” asked 
Humpty eagerly — “worse than a hospital, Ted?” 

“For a St. Elmer boy! Why, yes, it’s — it’s 
disgraceful,” was the excited answer. “But I 
guess, after this, it’s the only place left for Jim.” 

And every one at Heron Hall, even gentle lit- 
tle mother, was of the same mind. 

“Sure that boy was a villyun, as I seen plain by 
the squint of his eyes the night he took supper 
with us,” said Mammy Meg. “And the dog knew 
it, too — didn’t ye, Bowser? Ye’ll pick yer friends 
wiser after this, Master Ted.” 


198 HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 

And they were “picked” friends, indeed, that 
Ted gathered about him when, a few days later, 
as became the great-grandson of the old soldier 
who fought at Dorchester Heights, he celebrated 
the “Glorious Fourth.” It was holiday time, of 
course. Phil Waters came up; and Hal Herndon 
and Will Leigh, St. Elmer boys who lived in New 
York; and little Bob Connor, whom Ted had in- 
vited for a month to the seashore, to that small 
henchman’s unspeakable delight. Ted was to go 
back with his old mates for the Freshman class 
in September. And Colonel Jarvis came loaded 
with flags and fireworks, to “celebrate,” for the 
first time in thirty years or more, with all the 
gusto of fourteen. 

Heron Hall blossomed out with the Stars and 
Stripes on cupola and portico. Dolly and Kit and 
Nell were in red, white, and blue ribbons from 
top to toe. Mama had a pretty Liberty knot on 
her breast; and even Aunt Fan, though she felt 
that things were too gay, and that something 
would happen before night, wore a white gown 
and a posy in her belt. And what a dinner there 
was served in the great dining-room that day! 
Mammy Meg broke all past records with her fried 
chicken, her cream gravy, her cherry pie. 


HAPPY DAYS AT HERON HALL 199 

All day long the sands and beach blazed with 
firecrackers and popguns; but night brought the 
crowning glory of the celebration — the fireworks. 
Colonel Jarvis had “spread himself’ on this with 
all the delight of a boy. The shore folks gath- 
ered from near and far to see the dazzling won- 
ders — fountains and stars and wheels of fire, rock- 
ets leaping high and far over the reddening 
waves, Roman candles scattering showers of rain- 
bow light ; and at the last, the very last, after the 
President’s face had blazed out in the darkness, 
and the Starry Banner flashed high in the sum- 
mer air, Colonel Jarvis’ cheery voice rang forth : 

“Let us close, good friends, with a cheer — a 
cheer for our flag, a cheer for the heroes who 
have upheld it, and a cheer for our modest young 
hero who has stood for home and mother against 
trying odds, and has won his fight !” 

And then far up into the summer sky flashed 
the blue and white flag of St. Elmer’s, its motto 
standing out in golden light, Deo Duce. And 
mama slipped her arm around her dear hero, and 
dad’s strong, glad voice led the rousing cheer 
that made the sand and shore re-echo with 

“Hurrah, hurrah for Captain Ted!” 


PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS. 



Benziger Brothers' New Plan for Disseminating Catholic Literature 

A NEW PLAN FOR SECURING 

Catholic Books on Easy Payments 

Small Monthly Payments. Books Delivered Immediately. All 
New Copyright Works by the Foremost Writers 
Printed from New Plates^ on Good Paper , Substantially Bound in Cloth 

A MOST LIBERAL OFFER! 

The following pages contain a list of the books in our Cath- 
olic Circulating Library which can be had from us on the easy- 
payment plan. 

Though the books are sold on easy payments, the prices are 
lower than the regular advertised prices. 

Any library advertised in these pages will be sent to you 
immediately on receipt of $1.00. 


CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY 

The Plan forForming Reading Circles 

Dues only 10 Cents a Month . 

A New Book Every Month ) Total Cost for 
$12 Worth of Books to Read J a Year, $1.20 
THIS EXPLAINS THE PLAN 

You form a Reading Club, say of 
twelve members, and order one of the 
Libraries from us. 

Each member pays you ten cents a 
month, and you remit us $1.00 a month, 
thus paying us for the books. 

On receipt of the first dollar we 
will send you a complete library. 

You give each member a book. After 
a month all the members return their 
books to you and you give them another one. The books are 
exchanged in this way every month till the members have read 
the twelve volumes in the Library. After the twelfth month 
the books may be divided among the members (each getting one 
book to keep) or the books may be given to your Pastor for a 
parish library. 

Then you can order from us a second Library on the same 
terms as above. In this way you can keep up your Reading 
Circle from year to year at a trifling cost. 

On the following pages will be found a list of the books in 
the different Libraries. They are the best that can be had. 

Mail a dollar bill to-day and any Library will be forwarded 
at once. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36-38 Barclay St. 343 Main St. 211-213 Madison St. 


THE OTHER 
PLAN 

Or if, instead of form- 
ing a Reading Circle, 
you wish to get a 
Library for yourself 
or your family, all 
you need do is to re- 
mit a dollar bill and 
any Library will be 
forwarded to you at 
once. Then you pay 
One Dollar a month. 


1 


CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY 

Dues, 10 cents a Month 2 New Books Every Month 

JUVENILE BOOKS 

20 Copyrighted Stories for the Young, by the Best Authors 
Special Net Price, $10.00 
You get the books at once, and have the use of them, while 

making easy payments. Read explanation on first page. 

JUVENILE LIBRARY A 

TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A START. By Rev. F. J. 
Finn, S.J. “Best boy’s book that ever came from the press.” 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. By Rev. H. S. Spald- 
ing, S.J. “This is a story full of go and adventure.” 

HARRY RUSSELL, A ROCKLAND COLLEGE BOY. By 
Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “Father Copus takes the college 
hero where Father Finn has left him, through the years 
to graduation.” 

CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. By Rev. David Bearne, S.J. 
Father. Bearne shows a wonderful knowledge and fine ap- 
preciation of boy character. 

NAN NOBODY, By Mary T. Waggaman. “Keeps one fas- 
cinated till the last page is reached.” 

LOYAL BLUE AND ROYAL SCARLET. By Marion A. 
Taggart. “Will help keep awake the strain of hero worship.” 

THE GOLDEN LILY. By Katharine T. Hinkson. “Another 
*roof of the author’s wonderful genius.” 

THE MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. By Anna T. Sadlier. “A 
bright, sparkling book.” 

OLD CHARLMONT’S SEED-BED. By Sara T. Smith. “A 
delightful story of Southern school life.” 

THE MADCAP SET AT ST. ANNE’S. By Marion J. 
Brunowe. “Plenty of fun, with high moral principle.” 

BUNT AND BILL. By Clara Mulholland. “There are 
passages of true pathos and humor in this pretty tale.” 

THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. By Maurice F. Egan. 
“They are by no means faultless young people and their 
hearts lie in the right places.” 

PICKLE AND PEPPER. By Ella L. Dorsey. “This story 
is clever and witty — there is not a dull page.” 

A HOSTAGE OF WAR. By Mary G. Bonesteel. “A wide- 
awake story, brimful of incident and easy humor.” 

AN EVERY DAY GIRL. By Mary T. Crowley. “One of the 
few tales that will appeal to the heart of every girl.” 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. By Mary E. Mannix. “This book will 
make a name for itself.” 

AN HEIR OF DREAMS. By S. M. O’Malley. “The book is 
destined to become a true friend of our boys.” 

THE MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
Sure to stir the blood of every real boy and to delight with 
its finer touches the heart of every true girl. 

TWO LITTLE GIRLS. By Lillian Mack. A real child’s tale. 

RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. By Rev. David Bearne, S.J. 
“His sympathy with boyhood is so evident and his under- 
standing so perfect.” 


2 


20 COPYRIGHTED STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 

BY THE BEST CATHOLIC WRITERS 
Special Net Price, SfiJIC.OO 
$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page 

JUVENILE LIBRARY B 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEARANCE. By Rev. F. J. 
Finn, S.J. Profusely illustrated. “A delightful story by 
Father Finn, which will be popular with the girls as well 
as with the boys.” 

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK. By Rev. H. S. 
Spalding, S.J. “From the outset the reader's attention is 
captivated and never lags.” 

SAINT CUTHBERT’S. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “A truly 
inspiring tale, full of excitement.” 

THE TAMING OF POLLY. By Ella Loraine Dorsey. “Polly 
with her cool head, her pure heart and stern Western sense 
of justice.” 

STRONG-ARM OF AVALON. By Mary T. Waggaman. 
“Takes hold of the interest and of the heart and never 
lets go.” 

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. By C. May. “Courage, 
truth, honest dealing with friend and foe.” 

A KLONDIKE PICNIC. By Eleanor C. Donnelly. “Alive 
with the charm that belongs to childhood.” 

A COLLEGE BOY. By Anthony Yorke. “Healthy, full of 
life, full of incident.” 

THE GREAT CAPTAIN. By Katharine T. Hinkson. 
“Makes the most interesting and delightful reading.” 

THE YOUNG COLOR GUARD. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 
“The attractiveness of the tale is enhanced by the realness 
that pervades it.” 

THE HALDEMAN CHILDREN. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full 
of people entertaining, refined, and witty.” 

PAULINE ARCHER. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Sure to cap- 
tivate the hearts of all juvenile readers.” 

THE ARMORER OF SOLINGEN. By W. Herchenbach. 
“Cannot fail to inspire honest ambition.” 

THE INUNDATION. By Canon Schmid. “Sure to please 
the young readers for whom it is intended.” 

THE BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE. By Marion A. Tag- 
gart. “Pleasing and captivating to young people.” 

DIMPLING’S SUCCESS. By Clara Mulholland. “Vivacious 
and natural and cannot fail to be a favorite.” 

B1STOURI. By A. Melandri. “How Bistouri traces out the 
plotters and foils them makes interesting reading.” 

FRED'S LITTLE DAUGHTER. By Sara T. Smith. “The 
heroine wins her way into the heart of every one.” 

THE SEA-GULL’S ROCK. By J. Sandeau. “The intrepidity 
of the little hero will appeal to every boy.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. First Series. A collection of 
twenty stories by the foremost writers, with illustrations. 


3 


20 COPYRIGHTED STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 

BY THE BEST CATHOLIC WRITERS 
Special Net Price, $10.00 
$1.00 down, $i.oo a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

JUVENILE LIBRARY C 

PERCY WYNN; OR, MAKING A BOY OF HIM. By Rev. 
F. J. Finn, S.J. “The most successful Catholic juvenile 
published.” 

THE RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. By Rev. H. S. Spald- 
ing, S.T. “Father Spalding’s descriptions equal those of 
Cooper/* 

SHADOWS LIFTED. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.T. “We know 
of no books more delightful and interesting.’* 

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY, AND OTHER 
STORIES. By Maurice F. Egan. “A choice collection of 
stories by one of the most popular writers.” 

WINNETOU, THE APACHE KNIGHT. By C. May. “Chap- 
ters of breathless interest.” 

MILLY AVELING. By Sara Trainer Smith. “The best 
story Sara Trainer Smith has ever written.” 

THE TRANSPLANTING OF TESSIE. By Mary T. Wagga- 
man. “An excellent girl’s story.” 

THE PLAYWATER PLOT. By Mary T. Waggaman. “How 
the plotters are captured ana the boy rescued makes a very 
interesting story.” 

AN ADVENTURE WITH THE APACHES. By Gabriel 
Ferry. 

PANCHO AND PANCHITA. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full of 
color and warmth of life in old Mexico.” 

RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. By Mary G. Bonesteel. 
“Many a boyish heart will beat in envious admiration of 
little Tommy.” 

BY BRANSCOME RIVER. By Marion A. Taggart. “A 
creditable book in every way.” 

THE QUEEN’S PAGE. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. 
“Will arouse the young to interest in historical matters 
and is a good story well told.” 

MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
“Sprightly, interesting and well written.” 

BOB-O’LINK. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Every boy and girl 
will be delighted with Bob-o’Link.” 

THREE GIRLS AND ESPECIALLY ONE. By Marion A. 
Taggart. “There is an exquisite charm in the telling.” 

WRONGFULLY ACCUSED. By W. Herchenbach. “A simple 
tale, entertainingly told.” 

THE CANARY BIRD. By Canon Schmid. “The story is a 
fine one and will be enjoyed by boys and girls.” 

FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The children who 
are blessed with such stories have much to be thankful for.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second Series. A collection 
of twenty stories by the foremost writers, illustrated. 


4 


20 COPYRIGHTED STORIES FOR THE YOUNG 

BY THE BEST CATHOLIC WRITERS 
Special Net Price, SJjJlO.OO 
$1 .00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

JUVENILE LIBRARY D 

THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. By Rev. David Beaene, S.J. 
“Here is a story for boys that bids fair to equal any of 

Kathpr Finn^ 99 

THE MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. By George Barton. There 
is a peculiar charm about this novel that the discriminating 
reader will ascribe to the author’s own personality. 

HARMONY FLATS. By C. S. Whitmore. The characters 
are all drawn true to life, and the incidents are exciting. 

WAYWARD WINIFRED. By Anna T. Sadlier. A story for 
girls. Its youthful readers will enjoy the vivid description, 
lively conversation, and the many striking incidents. 

TOM LOSELY: BOY. By Rev. T. E. Copus, S.J. Illustrated. 
The writer knows boys and boy nature, and small-boy 
nature too. 

MORE FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The 
children who are blessed with such stories have much to be 
thankful for.” 

JACK O'LANTERN. By Mary T. Waggaman. This book is 
alive with interest. It is full of life and incident. 

THE BERKLEYS. By Emma Howard Wight. A truly in- 
spiring tale, full of excitement. There is not a dull page. 

LITTLE MISSY. By Mary T. Waggaman. A charming story 
for children which will be enjoyed by older folks as well. 

TOM’S LUCK-POT. By Mary T. Waggaman. Full of fun 
and charming incidents — a book that every boy should read. 

CHILDREN OF CUPA. By Mary E. Mannix. One of the 
most thoroughly unique and charming books that has found 
its way to the reviewing desk in many a day. 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. By Katharine T. Hinkson. This 
book is more than a story, and it is well written. 

THE DOLLAR HUNT. From the French by E. G. Martin. 
Those who wish to get a fascinating tale should read this. 

THE VIOLIN MAKER. From the original of Otto v. Schach- 
ing, by Sara Trainer Smith. There is much truth in this 
simple little story. 

“JACK. ’ By; S. H. C. J. As loving and lovable a little fellow 
as there is in the world is “Jack.” 

A SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. By Anna T. Sadlier. This 
is a beautiful book, in full sympathy with and delicately 
expressive of the author’s creations. 

DADDY DAN. By Mary T. Waggaman. A fine boys’ story. 

THE BELL FOUNDRY. By Otto v. Schaching. So interest- 
ing that the reader will find it hard to tear himself away. 

TOORALLADDY. By Julia C. Walsh. An exciting story of 
the varied fortunes of an orphan boy from abject poverty 
in a dismal cellar to success. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE, Third Series* A collection of 
twenty stories by the foremost writers. 

5 


CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBRARY 

Dues, 10 Cents a Month A New Book Every Month 

NOVELS 

12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 
Special Brice, $12.00 

You get the books at once, and have the use of them while 
making easy payments 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

LIBRARY OF NOVELS No. I 

THE RULER OF THE KINGDOM. By Grace Keon. “Will 
charm any reader.” 

KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS. By J. Harrison. “A 
real, true life history, the kind one could live through and 
never read it for romance. . . .” 

IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. By Marion A. Taggart. 
Illustrated. “A tale of the time of Henry V. of England, 
full of adventure and excitement.” 

HEARTS OF GOLD. By I. Edhor. “It is a tale that will 
leave its reader the better for knowing its heroine, her 
tenderness and her heart of gold.” 

THE HEIRESS OF CRONEN STEIN. By Countess Hahn- 
Hahn. “An exquisite story of life and love, told in touch- 
ingly simple words.” 

THE PILKINGTON HEIR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Skill and 
strength are shown in this story. The plot is well con- 
structed and the characters vividly differentiated.” 

THE OTHER MISS LISLE. A Catholic novel of South 
African life. By M. C. Martin. A powerful story by a 
writer of distinct ability. 

IDOLS; OR, THE SECRET OF THE RUE CHAUSSEE D’ AN- 
TIN'. By Raoul de Navery. “The story is a remarkably 
clever one; it is well constructed and evinces a master hand.” 

THE SOGGARTH AROON. By Rev. Joseph Guinan, C.C. 
A capital Irish story. 

THE VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY. By Maurice F. 
Egan. # “This is a novel of modern American life. The 
scene is laid in a pleasant colony of cultivated people on 
the banks of the Hudson, not far from West Point.” 

A WOMAN OF FORTUNE. By Christian Reid. “That great 
American Catholic novel for which so much inquiry is made, 
a story true in its picture of Americans at home and abroad.” 

PASSING SHADOWS. By Anthony Yorke. “A thoroughly 
charming story. It sparkles from first to last with interest- 
ing situations and dialogues that are full of sentiment. 
There is not a slow page.” 


6 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

Special Net Price, $12.00 

$1.00 down, $i.oo a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 


LIBRARY OF NOVELS No. II 

THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S WAGER, and Other Stories. 
30 stories by 30 of the foremost Catholic writers. 

A DAUGHTER OF KINGS. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. 
“The book is most enjoyable.” 

THE WAY THAT LED BEYOND. By J. Harrison. “The 
story does not drag, the plot is well worked out, and the 
interest endures to the very last page.” 

CORINNE’S VOW. By Mary T. Waggaman. With 16 full- 
page illustrations. “There is genuine artistic merit in its 
plot and life-story. It is full of vitality and action.” 

THE FATAL BEACON. By F. v. Brackel. “The story is 
told well and clearly, and has a certain charm that will be 
found interesting. The principle characters are simple, 
good-hearted people, and the heroine’s high sense of courage 
impresses itself upon the reader as the tale proceeds.” 

THE MONK’S PARDON: An Historical Romance of the Time 
of Philip IV. of Spain. By Raoul de Navery. “A story 
full of stirring incidents and written in a lively, attrac- 
tive style.” 

PERE MONNIER’S WARD. By Walter Lecky. “The char- 
acters are life-like and there is a pathos in the checkered 
life of the heroine. Pere Monnier is a memory that will 
linger.” 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER GERARD. By Anna T. Sadlier. 
“One of the most thoroughly original and delightful ro- 
mances ever evolved from the pen of a Catholic writer.” 

THE UNRAVELING OF A TANGLE. By Marion A. Tag- 
gart. With four full-page illustrations. “This story tells of 
the adventures of a young American girl, who, in order to 
get possession of a fortune left her by an uncle whom she 
had never seen, goes to France.” 

THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. By Henry M. Ross. “A well- 
told story of American life, the scene laid in Boston, New 
York and California. It is very interesting.” 

FABIOLA’S SISTER. (A companion volume to Cardinal 
Wiseman’s “Fabiola.”) Adapted by A. C. Clarke. “A book 
to read — a worthy sequel to that masterpiece, ‘Fabiola.’ ” 

THE OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE: A Novel. By A. de La- 
mothe. “A capital novel with plenty of go in it.” 


7 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

Special Net Price, $>12.00 

$1.00 down, $i.oo a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 

LIBRARY OF NOVELS No. Ill 

“NOT A JUDGMENT.” By Grace Keon. “Beyond doubt the 
best Catholic novel of the year.” 

THE RED INN OF ST. LYPHAR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “A 
story of stirring times in France, when the sturdy Vendeans 
rose in defence of country and religion.” 

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER. By Katharine Tynan Hink- 
son. “So dramatic and so intensely interesting that the 
reader will find it difficult to tear himself away from the 
story.” 

OUT OF BONDAGE. By M. Holt. “Once his book becomes 
known it will be read by a great many.” 

MARCELLA GRACE. By Rosa Mulholland. Mr. Gladstone 
called this novel a masterpiece. 

THE CIRCUS-RIDER’S DAUGHTER. By F. v. Brackel. 
This work has achieved a remarkable success for a Catholic 
novel, for in less than a year three editions were printed. 

CARROLL DARE. By Mary T. Waggaman. Illustrated. “A 
thrilling story, with the dash of horses and the clash of 
swords on every side.” 

DION AND THE SIBYLS. By Miles Keon. “Dion is as 
brilliantly, as accurately and as elegantly classical, as 
scholarly in style and dictioa, as fascinating in plot and as 
vivid in action as Ben Hur.” 

HER BLIND FOLLY. By H. M. Ross. A clever story with 
an interesting and well-managed plot and many striking 
situations. 

MISS ERIN. By M. E. Francis. “A captivating tale of Irish 
life, redolent of genuine Celtic wit, love and pathos.” 

MR. BILLY BUTTONS. By Walter Lecky. “The figures 
who move in rugged grandeur through these pages are as 
fresh and unspoiled in their way as the good folk of 
Drumtochty.” 

CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. By Mrs. W. M. Bert- 
holds. “A story of which the spirit is so fine and the 
Catholic characters so nobly conceived.” 


8 


Continuation Library 


YOU SUBSCRIBE FOR FOUR NEW 
NOVELS A YEAR, TO BE MAILED 
TO YOU AS PUBLISHED, AND 
RECEIVE BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 
FREE. 

Each year we publish four new novels by the 
best Catholic authors. These novels are interest- 
ing beyond the ordinary — not religious, but Cath- 
olic in tone and feeling. They are issued in the 
best modern style. 

We ask you to give us a standing order for 
these novels. The price is $1.25, which will be 
charged as each volume is issued, and the volume 
sent postage paid. - 

As a special inducement for giving us a stand- 
ing order for the novels, we shall include free a 
subscription to Benziger’s Magazine . Benziger’s 
Magazine is recognized as the best and hand- 
somest Catholic periodical published, and we are 
sure will be welcomed in every library. The 
regular price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 

Thus for $5.00 a year — paid $1.25 at a time 
— you will get four good books and receive in 
addition a year's subscription to Benziger’s 
Magazine. The Magazine will be continued 
from year to year, as long as the standing order 
for the novels is in force, which will be till 
countermanded. 


9 


THE FAMOUS 

ROUND TABLE SERIES 

4= VOLUMES, $6.00 
60 Cents Down.; 60 Cents a Nlontti 
On payment of 50 cents you get the books and a free sub- 
scription to Benziger’s Magazine 
The Greatest Stories by the Foremost Catholic Writers in the World 
With Portraits of the Authors, Sketches of their Lives, and 
a List of their Works. Four exquisite volumes, containing the 
masterpieces of 36 of the foremost writers of America, Eng- 
land, Ireland, Germany, and France. Each story complete. 
Open any volume at random and you will find a great story to 
entertain you. 

48TSPECIAL OFFERS 

In order to place this fine collection of stories in every 
home, we make the following special offer: Send us 50 cents 
and the four fine volumes will be sent to you immediately. 
Then you pay 50 cents each month until $6.00 has been paid. 


LIBRARY OF SHORT STORIES 


BY A BRILLIANT ARRAY OF CATHOLIC AUTHORS 
ORIGINAL STORIES BY 33 WRITERS 
Four handsome volumes and Benziger’s Magazine for a year 
at the Special Price of $5.00 
60 Cents Down; 60 Cents a. Nlontbi 
You get the books at once, and have the use of them while 
making easy payments. Send us only 50 cents, and we will 
forward the books at once; 50 cents entitles you to immediate 
possession. No further payment need be made for a month; 
afterwards you pay 50 cents a month. 


Anna T. Sadlier 
Mary E. Mannix 
Mary T. Waggaman 
Jerome Harte 
Mary G. Bonesteel 
Magdalen Rock 
Eugenie Uhlrich 
Alice Richardson 
Katharine Jenkins 
Mary Boyle O’Reilly 
Clara Mulholland 
Grace Keon 
Louisa Emily Dobree 
Theo. Gift 
Margaret E. Jordan 
Agnes M. Rowe 
Julia C. Walsh 


STORIES BY 

Madge Mannix 
Leigh Gordon Giltner 
Eleanor C. Donnelly 
Teresa Stanton 
H. J. Carroll 

Rev. T. J. Livingstone, S.J. 
Marion Ames Taggart 
Maurice Francis Egan 
Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 
Mrs. Francis Chadwick 
Catherine L. Meagher 
Anna Blanche McGill 
Mary Catherine Crowley 
Katharine Tynan Hinkson 
Sallie Margaret O’Malley 
Emma Howard Wight 


10 


900 pages 500 Illustrations 

A. GREAT OFFER! 

THE LIFE OF OUR LORD 

AND 

SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST 

And of His Virgin Mother Mary 

FROM THE ORIGINAL OF 

L. C. BUSINGER, LL.D. 

BY 

Rev. RICHARD BRENNAN, LL.D. 


Quarto, half morocco, full gilt side, gilt edges, 
900 pages, 500 illustrations in the text 
and 32 full-page illustrations by 

M. FEUERSTEIN 

PRICE NET $10.00 

Easy Payment Plan, 

$1.00 DOWN, $1.00 A MONTH 

Mail $1.00 to-day and the book will be shipped 
to you immediately. Then you pay $1.00 
a month till $10.00 is paid. 

This is not only a Life of Christ and of His 
Blessed Mother, but also a carefully condensed 
history of God’s Church from Adam to the end 
of the world in type, prophecy, and fulfilment, it 
contains a popular dogmatic theology and a real 
catechism of perseverance, filled with spiritual 
food for the soul. 


11 


The Best Stories and Articles. Over 1000 Illustrations a Year. 


BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 

The Popular Catholic Family Monthly 

Recommended by 70 Archbishops and Bishops of the 
United States 

SUBSCRIPTION, $2.00 A YEAR 


What Benziger’s Magazine gives its Readers : 

Fifty complete stories by the best writers — equal to a book of 
300 pages selling at $1.25. 

Three complete novels of absorbing interest— -equal to three 
books selling at $1.25 each. 

Over 1000 beautiful illustrations. 

Twenty-five large reproductions of celebrated paintings. 

Twenty articles— equal to a book of 150 pages — on travel and 
adventure; on the manners, customs and home-life of 
peoples; on the haunts and habits of animal life, etc. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on our country: 
historic events, times, places, important industries. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on the fine arts: 
celebrated artists and their paintings, sculpture, music, etc., 
and nature studies. 

Twelve pages of games and amusements for in and out of doors. 

Fifty pages of fashions, fads and fancies, gathered at home 
and abroad, helpful _ hints for home workers, household 
column, cooking receipts, etc. 

‘‘Current Events,” the important happenings over the whole 
world, described with pen and pictures. 

Twelve prize competitions, in which valuable prizes are offered. 

This is what is given in a single year of 
Benziger’s Magazine. 

Send $2.00 now and become a subscriber to the best and hand- 
somest Catholic Magazine published. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36-88 Barclay St. 343 Main St. 211-213 Madison St. 


12 





* 


One copy del. to Cat. Div. 









LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 






